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LET’S DISCUSS THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Feelings, Friendship, Courage

1. In this story, Wee Ghost is frightened to make friends, in case people don’t like him. Did this end up being correct? What do you think this might say about the way we sometimes feel before we make new friends?

2. What did Wee Ghost do to make friends?

3. Do you think this needed him to be brave? Why or why not?

Bedtime Story written by Prarthana Gururaj

Illustrated by Tanja Tomusilovic

Music Video by “Moonlight Hall” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Lift Motif” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License, http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The post The Friendly Ghost first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

© Storyberries 2021

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORY ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Honesty, Independent Thinking

1. Do you think the little ghost was right to take the bone she found in the graveyard? Why or why not?

Communication, Independent Thinking

1. How does the skeleton get his bone back? Do you think this was the best way to do it? Why or why not?

2. How are some other ways the skeleton might have gotten his bone back? 

Traditional Fairy Tale written by Joseph Jacobs, adapted for Halloween by Jade Maitre

Illustrations purchased under license

Book design by Jade Maitre

Music Video by “Children’s Theme” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Dances and Dames” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Seven March” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License, http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The post Teeny Tiny Halloween Tale first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

© Storyberries 2020

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Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Love, Independent Thinking, Conversation

1. Have you ever called someone you love by a funny name? Why do you think people sometimes do this?

2. What do you love about Halloween?

Bedtime story written by Jade Maitre

Illustrations purchased on license. Music and sound effects from zapsplat.com

The post You’re My Boo first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This story is about a girl called Angel, who receives a creepy doll for her birthday. It has scary themes, so is best for ages 7 and up.

You can read the story through, or click on the links below to go straight to…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

“I CAN’T WAAAAIIIITTTT!” Angel screamed, knocking her mum back with the force of her scream.

“Angel, I KNOW your birthday is in 2 days, but chill out, please!” Angel’s mum laughed and picked herself off the floor.

“Sorrymumit’sjustthatit’sgoingtobemytwelvethI’mturningTWELVEAndAUNTSYLVIAISCOMING!! and … and …”

“OK, OK, I get it, I get it!!” Her mum laughed.

“Sorry, mum, are you OK?” Angel hugged her mum. “I’m just so excited! I wonder what Aunty Sylvia will bring me this year? She always brings me cool stuff.”

“Creepy stuff, you mean,” teased her mum, tucking back into her dinner.

“I like creepy stuff! It’s awesome!!” exclaimed Angel.

It was true. Angel was fascinated by creepy stuff, so it was a good thing that she had a penpal, Jasmine, who lived in Malaysia. Asia was full of super creepy stuff like jumping ghosts and demons that sat on your chest when you were sleeping and stole your breath. Angel loved it all!

“Yes, well, just don’t crawl into my bed at night when you’re scared about something or the other,” Angel’s mum smiled at her.

“Mum! I’m too old for that now! Sheesh!” Angel clucked her tongue in mock disgust. They laughed together and finished their dinner.

After dinner Angel went upstairs to figure out more party decorations. It was going to be … a Halloween theme, of course! Angel’s birthday was right smack on October 31st – Halloween – so it was no wonder she was so into the spooky, creepy and freaky.

“OK, so I’ve got the severed arms dangling by spiderwebs from the ceiling … oh! I’ve got to make sure my spiderwebs are still OK! Wait … what do I care? They’re spiderwebs! The more torn-up the better! Now, the ghosts … I’ve got to make them scarier than last year’s … I wasn’t so into them then!”

Her thoughts drifted to her Aunt Sylvia. Aunt Sylvia was her mum’s older sister, but she was, Angel had to admit, way cooler than her mum, who was already pretty cool. She was into all the same things that Angel was – namely the spooky and macabre – a word that her aunt had taught her. Aunt Sylvia lived and worked all over the world, but she always made it a point to come visit Angel on her birthday – and this year was a big one – the last year before she was officially a teen.

Angel loved the gifts her aunt brought her – last year it had been a shrunken head from South America where she had gone on a holiday. That had caused a huge row between her aunt and her mum, who wanted her to be interested in more ‘normal girl stuff’ as she put it. In the end, she had allowed Angel to keep it on the condition that she not have any nightmares about it. So far she hadn’t. Then the previous year’s gift had been a real, stuffed rabbit’s foot.

“For good luck,” Aunt Sylvia had said.

Aunt Sylvia also told interesting, creepy, stories. Angel loved creepy stories that made her shiver a little at night, and her aunt was a master storyteller. Angel’s favourite story so far was the one about the beautiful long-haired woman who drivers sometimes saw on the road in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t talk, but would hitch a ride from you – only to turn out to be a ghost. This story was from Malaysia, and Jasmine had confirmed that it had happened to lots of her mum’s friends.

Angel drifted off to sleep with creepy stories on her mind.

Little did she know that soon she’d be wrapped up in a terrifying story of her own …

Chapter 2

“GOOOODDD MOOOORRRNINGGGG!!!!” Angel shrieked and pounced on her mum’s bed. “WISH ME HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY!!!!”

Angel’s mum rolled over and hugged her. “Happy birthday, darling. Now go organise your birthday stuff and leave me alone.”

Angel bounced downstairs to the fridge to check on the ‘blood’ punch. The floating eyes, fingers and toes bobbed around in the red punch as she scooped a cup for herself.

“Don’t drink that stuff in the morning!” her mum said, coming down the stairs.

“Aw mum, it’s my birthday, give me a break!”

By noon, Angel was bouncing around the house. “When is Aunt Sylvia coming!?!??

“Right now, my little ghoul!” said a voice from behind her. She jumped and squealed.

“AUNT SYLLLIIVVVIIIAAAAA!!” She ran and squeezed her aunt so tight that she forced out a little ‘oof’.

“OK, relax, Angel, my angel, you don’t want to kill me before I give you your gift!” laughed Aunt Sylvia.

“Ooh, what is it?!?!” exclaimed Angel, spinning around like a top in her excitement.

“Here you go. Be careful, it’s porcelain.”

Angel peeked inside the bag.

“A … doll?” she said, puzzled, “But … Aunt Sylvia … you know I’m not into girly stuff. Sheesh, has my mum been talking to you?” She put the bag down, disappointed.

“Girl, you know I wouldn’t get you just any old doll! Take her out and have a good look at her. She’s got a story that you’ll want to hear.”

Angel took the doll out of the bag and held it up. Then she saw that as pretty as it was, with its brown curls, big black eyes and long eyelashes, it actually was uber-creepy too. Its blank eyes stared at her, sending a little shiver down her spine. Did they flash a little just then?

“O-kay … I get it, Aunt Sylvia. Dolls are creepy and, yup, this gal is pretty creepy. She’s staring at me like I’m supposed to talk to her or something…”

“This isn’t just any old doll, Angel. Sit down and listen to her story.” Aunt Sylvia patted the couch next to her. Angel sat down and put the doll on the floor next to her. It didn’t seem like the type of doll you cuddled. Aunty Sylvia looked down at it.

“I bought this doll at an old shop at the edge of town. It’s one of those shops that sells things nobody wants, until the right person comes along and wants it – you know what I mean? I like to pop in there every once in a while to see what could be waiting for me to find it. When I walked in a few months ago … she was waiting for me.”

Angel shifted uncomfortably. Was she seeing things or did an annoyed frown just flash on the doll’s face?

“The moment I saw her, I knew I had to get her for you. And when the shopkeeper told me how it came to be there, it was perfect.

“Tell me, Aunt Sylvia! TELL me!!” Angel started to bounce again in anticipation.She tried to avoid looking at the doll, but couldn’t stop sneaking glances at it.

“Well, the shopkeeper said that she arrived at the shop one morning and there it was, in a little basket, as if it was a baby. There was a note attached to it. Hang on, it should still be attached. The shopkeeper said she didn’t take the note off. She didn’t like to touch the doll too much – she even left it in the basket all these years, she said.”

“Where’s the basket now?” Angel asked, leaning down and sweeping her hands across the floor, feeling for the note.

“I took it out of the basket. I knew if I left it in there, you’d really not appreciate it!” Aunt Sylvia chuckled. Angel nodded.

“For sure … a little baby-doll … seriously! Ah!” She jumped up with a little scrap of paper in her hands. “I think this is the note.”

“Read it out loud. I’ve not read it, I wanted to leave that honour to you,” Aunt Sylvia said.

Angel unfolded the note and read it out loud to her aunt.

“She is a naughty girl and naughty girls get punished. May she learn her lesson or forever hold her peace.” Angel felt a weird wave pass over her. “What does that mean!?”

“I have no idea. But … It’s the perfect gift for you, do you see? Your mum will think I finally got you a normal, girly thing, but we’ll know better, won’t we?”

“Yes … we’ll know better …” Angel was in deep thought.

There was something about the doll, something she felt she should have been noticing, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it yet…

Chapter 3

That afternoon, Angel’s friends started to come. They were all dressed up. There were vampires, witches, two Frankensteins and a couple of devils. Her BFF Tessa was Carrie from their favourite author Stephen King’s book, and Bryana and Dominique, her other close friends, were the twins from ‘The Shining’.

Angel always dressed up as horror story character, and this year she was the creature from The Ring. Angel always had a ball creeping her friends out with her super-creepy decorations, food and games. But today she found it was a little different to usual. She just couldn’t shake her weirded out feelings about the doll. When Tessa had arrived, she had quickly put the doll on the shelf of dolls in her bedroom and vowed to forget about it until later. But she couldn’t quite forget that little glint she thought she had seen in its eyes.

When night fell, Angel’s mum gathered everyone together to go trick or treating. Angel went into her room to grab her socks. But as she turned, she found herself staring at the doll. Was it staring pleadingly at her?

She really didn’t want to get into anything right now, just as she was about to go do one of her favourite things. But she knew she had to have a closer look. Angel went up to the shelf. She could swear it was asking her for something with its eyes. She wanted to pick it up to give it a cuddle, but … it was just so creepy! She shook her head and went back downstairs.

Trick or treat was as awesome as it was every year. Her next door neighbour had decorated his house up to the max and invited them in for the annual ‘Terrible Tour’. It was better than any lame amusement park haunted house. But all Angel could think about was the doll. It made her skin crawl but she felt kind of sorry for it at the same time. She decided to talk to her girls about it later when they were settled in for the sleepover.

“Guys, guys, huddle up…” Angel pulled her friends’ arms as they were sitting together on her bedroom floor later that night.

“What’s up, Angel? You’re actually looking kind of white … were you seriously scared by the ‘Terrible Tour’?!” Dominique teased.

“No, no, it’s not that. Look, my Aunt Sylvia gave me this really creepy doll for my birthday and normally you know I love stuff like this, but there’s something really weird about this doll.”

Angel blushed to see their surprised faces, but she went on. “I really feel like it’s trying to tell me something,” she admitted.

“Like what, ‘Take me to your leader?’ Bryana snorted. Dominique and Bryana, though into the creepy stuff, didn’t take it so seriously. Tessa, on the other hand, GOT Angel.

“Bring it down, let’s check it out. If it came from your Aunt Sylvia, it’s gotta be something interesting, but I don’t think she’d have given you anything … like … bad.”

“That’s the thing. It’s creeping me out but I’m not feeling …. bad. Just … weird.”

Angel didn’t know how to explain it. She took the doll down from the shelf.

“She’s so pretty!” said Dominique. Bryana went to take the doll from Angel, but Angel stopped.

“I’m not sure you should touch her. I feel … this weird connection to her … like she’d only like it if I touched her.”

“Wow … OK. You’re really affected by her, I can see that,” said Bryana.

Tessa, who’d been quiet the whole time, spoke up.

“OK, I take it back. There is something uber-creepy about that thing. Could it not be in here when we sleep?” Then she added, as if it was an afterthought:

“In fact, if I were you, I’d get rid of it, Aunt Sylvia or no.”

Angel had a gut feeling that, much as it creeped her out, she couldn’t just chuck it in the bin. Tessa was right, thought, they’d never get any sleep with it in her room. She took it out to the garage and put it on her dad’s workbench. She almost said sorry to it, but shook her head and chuckled nervously.

“It’s only a DOLL, Angel, get it together,” she whispered to herself.

Then she went back in to her friends.

Something she should never have done.

Chapter 4

The girls had a great time and fell asleep at 4am, but Angel jerked awake at 6am, shaking. She looked around … her friends seemed OK. She must have had a nightmare, which was not normal for her.

She wished she could call Aunt Sylvia. She could have spoken to her about it, but Aunt Sylvia had already gone off on another trip to a new faraway destination. So instead she shook her head as though trying to shake away the scary thoughts, rubbed her eyes and went back to sleep.

When everyone woke up, Angel and her friends decided to go to the mall to distract themselves. They were still pretty disturbed by the doll and nobody had had a great sleep.

Then Angel suddenly remembered – they would have to go through the garage to get to her mum’s car! She stopped short, Tessa banging into her.

“What’s up, Angel!?” Tessa squealed.

“The garage … the doll … I put the doll in the garage!” Angel stammered.

“Angel!” her mum called, “What’s this doing in the garage??”

Angel knew she meant the doll. “Sorry, mum, sorry! Erm, just a little joke. I’ll come get it – her!”

“I don’t want to see that thing!” jumped Bryana.

“OK OK, you guys, I have to get it back. You guys go wait in the living room, OK?”

Angel pounded down the stairs and ran into the garage. Her mum watched her all the while, arms folded. Was the doll staring accusingly at her? She gulped and gingerly crept towards it.

“Angel, you’re being extra weird today. I’ll chalk it up to not enough sleep. Get going, girl, if you guys want a lift to the mall!” Mum said.

Angel grabbed the doll, ran upstairs, plonked it down on the shelf and ran all the way back down.

“Let’s go,” she panted.

When Angel got home that afternoon, she was nervous. She didn’t know what to expect. She had meant it when she’d told her friends that she didn’t feel it was evil, but it did seem like it had feelings, and her chucking it in the garage the night before might not have been very nice. What if the doll was angry at her? What might it do? What could a doll do, in the middle of the night?

Angel was so worked up by all her thoughts that when she got back to her room, she gave a little scream to notice that

The doll wasn’t there!

She was sure she’d left it on the shelf before going to the mall.

It wasn’t on the floor under the shelf either.

She ran around her room looking for it, just in case she’d remembered wrongly.

Her mind whirled … had it come alive and run away? Had it come alive and hidden somewhere to pounce on her that night??

She freaked out and ran out of the room. She would sleep on the couch tonight. No way she was going back into her room.

Then she heard April’s voice talking to someone. Who was April talking to?

OMG was the doll in there!?

She rushed into her sister’s room, ready to fight a demented, demonic doll.

The doll was there, but it wasn’t demented, or demonic … it was … normal. She was already in freak-out mode, though, and she shrieked and grabbed the doll from her sister. April started to cry.

“What on earth is going on in here??” Angel’s mum stormed into April’s room, “I was trying to write!! Angel, you KNOW I’ve got something due! I was counting on you to play nicely with April so I could finish it!”

“Mum, I’m sorry, I … I freaked out. I … thought …” She looked down at the doll. Was she imagining a smirk on its face?

“You didn’t think, that’s what! Go to your room until dinnertime. I want some peace in this house. Got it?”

“But … Mum …”

“NO BUTS, YOUNG LADY! GO!!!”

There was no point arguing. Angel went to her room and put the doll back on the shelf.

When she had calmed down, she figured that since she was stuck in her room until dinner, she’d better get going on her homework. Today was maths – she hated the stuff. Two frustrating hours later, Angel hadn’t figured anything out. She stomped down to help her mum with dinner. They ate mainly in silence until April coughed and snorted peas out of her nose and Angel and her mum burst out laughing. After that they chilled and Angel wanted to talk to her mum about the doll. Then she felt weird and didn’t.

And so it was that after dinner, Angel plodded back upstairs to try to tackle her maths again. She opened her notebook. And couldn’t believe her eyes!

Chapter 5

The sums were all neatly done in her handwriting!!

She shook her head, rubbed her eyes and stared at the book again. Had she actually done them, but forgotten because she was so tired? What was going on!? Then she looked up at the doll on the shelf. What…!

The next morning Angel didn’t wait to tell her best friend.

“Tessa! Tessa!” Angel shrieked, running towards her. “You’re never going to guess what happened last night!!! You know that homework Mr. Buo gave us?”

“Yeah … It took me ages to figure it out. I don’t even know if I got it right!” Tessa rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, me too … but get this. I gave up on my maths homework after only halfway because I had to have dinner. But when I went back up to try to finish it, it’d been done! See?” Angel pulled out her maths book and showed it to Tessa.

“Uh … dude … that’s your handwriting.” Tessa stared at Angel. Angel could tell her best friend didn’t believe her.

“That’s the thing…” she tried to continue. “I’m 99% sure I didn’t! I mean … I was trying like mad to figure it out before dinner … I threw out pages and pages of calculations … but then … after dinner … there they were! Finished!”

“Hmmmm…” said Tessa. She appeared to be thinking. Eventually, she said,

“OK fine. If the doll did do it, how are you sure she’s not doing it to make you think she’s on your side?” Her eyes grew round. “And then, when you’ve relaxed … WHACK!” Tessa whacked her hand into her other fist and then laughed. It made Angel jump.

Get a grip, Angel! she whispered firmly to herself.

“Angel! Tessa! Hey!” Angel and Tessa turned around and saw Whitney, a friend from their home room. “Hey, guys, I’m having a party this Saturday, just a small thing to introduce an exchange student who’ll be staying with us for a month. Can you come? Please say you’ll come!”

“Cool! Thanks, Whitney, we’ll be there!”

Angel was happy to have a distraction from the doll. She was so confused. Was Tessa right? Had it done her homework just to get on her good side?

“Cool! Great! See you guys at home room!”

After that, Angel had a terrible week. She couldn’t concentrate on her schoolwork, she couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t eat. All that was running through her mind were questions like Was the doll bad? Was the doll good? Was it helping her or plotting against her?

Her head was spinning. Bad stuff started happening, too. She dropped her homework folder into a puddle and got in trouble with her teacher, who didn’t believe her excuse. Her sister got the measles (luckily Angel herself had already had it, so she couldn’t catch it again.) She got stung by a bee and her hand swelled up to twice its size. She hoped it would get back to normal by Saturday.

But by Saturday, she was starting to think that maybe Tessa was right. The doll was doing bad stuff to her. Her swollen hand hadn’t gone back to normal. She hadn’t slept well the night before and she had panda eyes. She couldn’t find her favourite dress and her mum was in a really bad mood and had threatened to not take her to the party if she didn’t keep her sister quiet for a couple of hours.

Finally, Angel got to Whitney’s house. She crossed her fingers and went inside. Tessa was already there. Tessa did a double take when she saw Angel.

“Are you OK, girlfriend? You look like you’ve been trampled by bison.”

Angel sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just try to have fun, OK?”

“Angel! Tessa!” Whitney called them over to where she was standing with a nice-looking boy. “This is Sam. He’s from England and he’s staying with us for the month.” Sam smiled at them.

“Hi, Sam, how are you liking the States so far?” Angel asked Sam.

“It’s cool. So many things are different here, but then so many things are the same,” Sam said.

“Like what?”

Angel was curious. She was always curious about other cultures.

“Like the music you guys like here. I’m so happy to hear Imagine Dragons on the radio everywhere here too.”

“You like Imagine Dragons? Get out! They’re one of our favourite bands too!” Tessa exclaimed.

The three of them settled down to talk and Angel started to feel normal for the first time since she’d gotten the doll.

But things weren’t normal, as she’d soon discover. Even out of sight, the doll was still watching her, waiting for something, that strange little smile on its face…

Chapter 6

On Monday morning, Angel was in a much better mood. Saturday night was the most awesome fun she’d had, maybe even better than her birthday. She really liked Sam, he seemed cool, and he seemed to like so many of the same things that she did, even books and… weird stuff. They had talked all night and said they’d catch up in school.

The next day Angel bounced into school looking for Tessa and Sam. She found Tessa, but Sam didn’t show up before home room.

The two girls chatted about how the interesting stuff he’d said. “Remember all that stuff he was telling us about the Tower of London? The beheadings and stuff? Cool! I’m going to research more into English history … so many crazy things went on there!” Angel enthused.

But they didn’t see Sam in class either. Whitney was also not there.

“Class, class, I need your attention please. Whoever attended Whitney’s party on Saturday, please report to the matron,” Angel’s teacher announced to the class.

Something started niggling at Angel again. “Tessa … it’s something bad, I know it. The doll …”

“Angel … Angel…” her friend whispered in reply. “Don’t start with that doll stuff again. I told you… if it’s freaking you out this bad, get rid of it. Your Aunt Sylvia will understand. Seriously, she wouldn’t want you to be going nuts.”

But that didn’t sit well with Angel. She shook her head. As they walked to the matron’s office, she decided to try talking to the doll when she got home later. She knew it sounded silly, but no-one would know, would they?

When they got to the office, the matron told them that Whitney and Sam were down with some kind of weird virus that even she’d never heard of. Alarm bells clanged in Angel’s head.

“Tess …”

“I don’t wanna hear, it, Ang.”

They were sent home, just in case.

When she got home, Angel went straight to the doll.

“Look, I know I haven’t been very nice to you, but… it’s because you’re creeping me out! I’ve got the heebie jeebies! I”m not sleeping, I’m not eating … I don’t know if it’s real or not, but I feel like there’s something going on with you. I don’t think you’re evil like Tessa says, but… but I wish I knew what’s the deal.”

She stopped. What was she doing – talking to a doll?! She was really losing it. She shook her head.

“Anyway, I want to be friends. I’ll try to be nicer to you… but can you quit creeping me out? And… and… if there’s other stuff… please…” She stopped. She was sure the doll’s eyes had flashed again. Suddenly her mood shifted.

“OK! Deal? Deal!”

She relaxed. Something had changed… she was sure of it.

After her strange conversation with the doll, Angel had a great dinner. She found herself laughing with her mum about lots of little things. She even seemed more relaxed than usual, which was weird because of the virus alert.

“Mum, aren’t you worried about the virus? I mean, I was at the party too.”

“I’m worried, sure, but I’m pretty sure you’re protected from a lot of things. We eat right, use essential oils, your immunity is strong. I’m not stressing out.”

Well, according to both Angel and her mum then, things were looking good.

After dinner, Angel went up to her room to do her homework. She joked with the doll,

“Hi! Could you help me with my maths again? I hate maths SO much! Nah, just kidding…”

But did she see the doll’s mouth turn up a little bit? She smiled back and got down to her homework. It was surprisingly easy… was the doll actually helping her??

Later when she was snuggling into bed, she turned to look at the doll.

“Can I ask one thing?” she said to the doll. “If you’re really making things happen, can you please help my friends Whitney and Sam? They’re sick with some weird virus and I’m scared for them.”

Then she turned over and went to sleep.

The doll’s mouth turned up even more.

Chapter 7

A few days passed and Angel’s plan seemed to be working. Maybe the doll was working with her now. Things didn’t seem to be going so badly as they were before. Sam and Whitney were still in hospital with the virus, but Angel knew these things took time to get better and luckily nobody else seemed to have caught it. Then, on Thursday, Whitney’s mum called her mum and told her that Sam had been asking to see her! The doctor had cleared it, so, on Friday, Angel and Tessa went straight to the hospital from school.

“Hi Whitney! Hi Sam! OMG how are you guys??” Angel and Tessa came into the hospital room with a whole bunch of balloons and cards from friends in school.

“We’re contagious! Stay away! Who said you could come here!” shrieked Sam, waving them away in alarm.” But on seeing their shocked faces, he laughed, “Just kidding guys, thanks for coming to see us.”

“Yeah guys, thanks for coming!” Whitney rolled her eyes and tilted her head towards Sam. “I’ve been going stir crazy cooped up in here with this joker. Who knew English people could be so hilarious,” she drawled in a mock-English accent.

“You, my dear little buttercup, appreciate me, I just know it deep down inside,” joked Sam. He turned to Angel. “Fill me in on creepy stories, Angel, I’ve been deprived of my daily dose of creepiness!”

“Ha ha… well uh…” Angel had the perfect creepy story to tell him, but since it involved him and Whitney, she wasn’t sure she should tell them. “Actually it’s been a boring few weeks, guys.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I’m also waiting for something to happen.”

“Wait, what about …” Tessa began

“… the weird noises that old lady Hinkley has been hearing in her garden!” Angel cut Tessa off. “You’re right, Tessa! How could I forget! She’s called the police, like, 3-4 times now to investigate, but they’ve always told her to not bother them about this stuff.”

“Yeah…” Tessa side-eyed Angel. “Very weird.”

“Ooooh… what do you think it is? Bigfoot?” Sam sat up, very interested.

“No idea… I don’t think Bigfoot hangs out in our neck of the woods, though,” Angel said. “Anyway, tell us more about creepy stories from England…”

Angel’s mum drove the two girls back home. Tessa was going to stay over because her parents had to attend an event.

“Ang, I hope that creepy doll isn’t going to be sitting on the shelf in your room staring at us the whole time,” Tessa said. “You know how I feel about it.”

Angel sighed, “Tess, I already told you… it’s on our side now. It won’t hurt us, I swear!”

Tessa shrugged, “That’s what you believe, you don’t know that for a fact.”

Angel took Tessa’s arm, “Tess, babe, trust me. I’ve been sleeping with it in the room every night. I feel safe and… even protected. Give it a chance, OK?”

Tessa shrugged again. “Let’s see.”

When they walked into Angel’s room, Tessa tensed up, but quickly relaxed. “Hey, you’re right! It doesn’t feel weird anymore!” She walked up to the doll, “Wow, it DOES look like it’s smiling more. Just a trick of the light, I’m sure, but … cool!

The girls settled down to watch TV after dinner. Paranormal Activities, their favourite show, was on that night.

“Oh… I’m supposed to message my mum to check in with her,” Tessa jumped up during an ad. “Give me a shout if it comes back on.”

Tessa ran upstairs. But shortly after, Angel heard her scream, and run back down the stairs.

“It MOVED! Angel, it moved!! I swear that thing is possessed get it OUT of the house NOW before anything bad happens!!!!”

Angel was shocked when Tessa actually burst into tears. She pounded up the stairs and into her room and, sure enough, the doll was facing the other way. She shrieked, grabbed it and threw it out of the window as hard as she could.

The doll landed on a hedge outside.

Its mouth turned down into a frown.

Chapter 8

Angel was back to being a nervous wreck – not eating, not sleeping, not concentrating on anything. Her mum had been so worried she’d caught the weird virus from Sam and Whitney that she had actually brought her to the doctor’s for the first time in years.

Angel had obviously not told her mum what was up with the doll. Her mum didn’t believe in all this stuff and would really be angry at Aunt Sylvia for filling her head with ‘all this nonsense’, as she’d said many times before.

Floating through school like a zombie, Angel got a lot of weird stares from everyone. Mrs. Karmalita, her favourite teacher who taught English Literature, asked if she needed to go to Matron. She started wearing hoodies pulled up over her face.

The one good thing about it all was that the doll was gone. She’d finally plucked up enough courage to go check the hedge where the doll had landed. It had vanished. She hoped that the cleaners had picked it up and sent it to the incinerator, and not that it had run away by itself.

But then, a few days later, Angel opened her closet and… the doll was there!

She was really scared now, and pretty convinced it was evil. Rushing to school and freaking out, so she just decided to leave it in the closet until she got home and figured out what to do.

She ran into school to look for Tessa, but Tessa wasn’t at their usual meeting spot in front of the lockers.

She was really freaking out now … Tessa had always been against the doll and she was pretty sure the doll knew it. It had been Tessa who had blown the final alarm bell, too.

Sick with worry, she tried to text Tessa.

No answer.

The bell rang for class and she kept texting throughout homeroom even though she knew phones weren’t allowed in class. Sure enough, Mr. Dobson caught her.

“Angel, you know you shouldn’t be using phones in class. Please report to detention after school today.”

“But, Mr. Dobson, Tessa might be in trouble!” Angel blurted out, panicked.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Dobson gave her a funny look. She knew she couldn’t say anything.

“Sorry, Mr. Dobson, I mean, Tessa’s not in school today and I’m worried she might have caught that weird virus Whitney and Sam had.”

She was going nuts. After detention and being screamed at by her mum, Angel grabbed her phone and frantically tried to reach Tessa again.

She tried her cell, her home, her mum … nothing. She sent her dozens of texts but Tessa didn’t see or reply to any of them.

She couldn’t sleep that night. She had refused to go back into her room and she’d gotten April to bring all her sleeping stuff out to the couch, which had made her mum mad again, but she didn’t care. She tossed and turned, stressing about what had happened to Tessa. Shifting and tugging on her blanket, she tried to figure out what had happened to her BFF. She was also freaking out about what the doll would to to HER.

The next day, Angel ran into school hoping to see Tessa, but there was still no sign of her. Sweating, she ran around the school searching everywhere for Tessa. The kitchen, the science lab, the English/creative writing class, everywhere. Tessa was nowhere to be seen.

At home, freaking out, she tried calling her BFF again, and this time Tessa replied!

“Tessa! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!!!” Angel screamed into her phone.

“Sorry, Angel, my grandma fell and broke her leg and we had to follow mum over to help her cos dad’s out of town. I forgot my phone. Did you think the doll had gotten me??”

“YES! Sheesh … don’t EVER do that to me again!”

That night she finally screwed up the courage to look into her closet again. Sure enough, the doll was still there, a small frown on its face.

“I’m sorry about what I did. I just… wish you weren’t so creepy. Did you really move??? Are you evil???? You know what? I kinda wish you could move and talk so that you could tell me what in the world is going on!!!”

And then she gave a little scream and dropped it.

It had blinked and smiled at her!

Chapter 9

Angel slammed the closet door shut.

“I take that back! I take that back! I don’t want you to come alive! Don’t!”

She slammed the door and ran down the stairs.

“That’s it! I’m getting rid of it! I’m gonna burn it! I don’t care if bad luck comes… I’ve had enough!”

She calmed down a while later, though. This was a creepy adventure and she always wanted creepy adventures, right? Now she knew what she had to do. Figure the whole thing out. She would lay low with the doll, pretend to be on its side and talk to it and stuff. She would research and try to find out more about the doll. There was definitely some history behind it… was it a magic cursed doll brought to life? Was it a cursed person’s soul put inside the doll by a witch? This was the stuff she was made for.

She got Tessa on the phone, “Tessa, Tessa, I know what to do now! It’s a creepy mystery!! It’s totally something we read about every time… and we’re in the middle of it!! We’ve got to solve it!!”

Tessa was quiet for a long while. “I guess you’re right, Angel. All this time I’ve been freaked out by it, but… yeah… it’s something we love freaking ourselves out with… okay, let’s do it!”

“Awesome! Wish you were here tonight, but it’s OK, I’ll start researching on my own. Come over tomorrow, OK?”

“I’ll try … I might have to help with my grandma.”

“Cool!” Angel felt a whole lot better now that she had decided what to do. She got online and started reading up on cursed dolls, witches, souls trapped in objects… it was uber creepy but the more she read into souls being trapped, the more it made sense. Maybe that’s why she never really felt the doll was evil… maybe it was just a trapped soul trying to get out and back to its own life?

She went to the closet and took a deep breath. She opened it and… All her clothes were neatly folded and arranged: shirts on the shirts pile, shorts on the shorts pile, dresses, skirts and jeans hung up. She smiled down at the doll.

“Hey, thanks for helping! First my homework, now my clothes… I could get used to having a friend do all this for me!”

She took the doll out of the cupboard and propped it against her pillow on her bed.

“So what’s the deal with you? Are you like Slappy in Goosebumps or… are you an actual person stuck in the doll?”

She saw a gleam in the doll’s eye. Was that a tear running down the doll’s cheek?!

“Oh… hey… don’t… don’t cry!! Omigosh… here…” Angel grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the doll’s face. She picked it up and gave it a cuddle – it didn’t feel weird anymore. “It’s OK. I’m your friend. I’ll try my best to help you, and my BFF too. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I wish you could talk… that would really help us along. I know! Maybe I can ask you questions and you can give me a sign for yes and a sign for no. Hmm … Can you blink once for yes, twice for no?” She nearly dropped the doll when it blinked once.

She shook her head and held on.

“OK! Great! We can talk! Kind of. Soooo… are you a doll curse to come to life or are you a soul trapped in a doll?”

The doll didn’t respond.

“Oh, ya sorry. Ummm… are you a doll cursed to come to life?”

The doll blinked twice.

“So you are a soul trapped inside a doll?”

The doll blinked once.

“But, whose soul? How am I going to find that out?” She mulled it over. “I know! I’ll research into people who have disappeared! But… there must be millions! Where am I supposed to start? Can you help me?”

The doll did nothing.

“I guess I will have to figure it out in the morning. Can you wait?”

The doll blinked once.

Chapter 10

Angel could barely sleep that night from the excitement of it all. She knew she was on the right track. The problem was… how on Earth was she going to find out exactly whose soul was trapped inside the doll?! She figured she could ask the doll about each and every missing person she could find out about… but that would take ages! She didn’t want to go to school the next day; she needed to get cracking on the case! But she knew her mum wouldn’t have any of it.

“Heya,” Angel greeted the doll before leaving for school. “I have to go to school. I’ll try to do some research during my free period, OK? Hopefully I’ll find something!” The doll didn’t reply.

In school, Angel rushed to Tessa.

“Tessa! Tessa! You’ll never guess what happened last night!”

“Hey Angel! You look a whole lot better today. Awesome!” Tessa hugged Angel.

“That’s because I’ve finally figured out something and I think I can really do something about the doll! Listen. After we talked, I did a ton of research about cursed dolls and souls being trapped inside objects and I found a way to talk to the doll!” Angel was breathless with excitement.

“It spoke to you?!” Tessa’s eyes were wide.

“Well, no, but I told it to blink once for yes, twice for no. I asked it if it had been cursed to come to life and it blinked twice for no! Then I asked if it was a soul trapped inside the doll… it blinked once! It’s a soul trapped inside the doll! So now all I have to do is find out whose…” Angel sighed, “That’s the toughie.”

“Yeah … there could be millions of possibilities. Where are we gonna start?” Tessa mused.

“You’re gonna help me?” Angel grabbed Tessa, excited.

“Of course! You didn’t think I’d let you have all the excitement, did you?” Tessa laughed.

“Cool! OK, I was planning on using my free period to hit the computers. I figured I’d write down all the names of missing people that I can find then read them to the doll when I get home,” Angel said.

“Good plan,” Tessa nodded. The bell rang for assembly.

“Oh … and she helped me fold my clothes!” Angel giggled. She nudged her friend. “I told her I could get used to all the help she was giving.”

The girls linked arms then and went to assembly. Mrs. Weston, the principal, looked very serious up on the podium.

“Girls and boys, today is the 60th anniversary of the disappearance of Meghan Montgomery,” Mrs. Weston told everyone. “As you may recall, Meghan was a student here from 1954 until her mysterious disappearance in 1959. Nobody knew where she had gone, not even her parents, and the police never found any leads, Nothing is known of her disappearance until today.”

Angel’s ears pricked up and she grabbed Tessa’s hand. Something was niggling at her.

“Let us have a moment of silence as we look through the pictures of Meghan and remember her in our hearts,” called Mrs. Weston.

Angel squeaked as pictures of Meghan started flashing onto the projector screen. They looked like the doll! Even Tessa did a double take.

At free time, the girls rushed to the library to research further into Meghan’s story. Angel was all but convinced that it was Meghan’s soul in the doll… but how? What was the story behind it?

“Get this, Tessa, Meghan was 12 just like us when she disappeared.” Angel showed Tessa the newspaper article about the disappearance.

“Yah and she was also into all the creepy stuff that we like too,” Tessa read from another article she was reading about Meghan.

“I think we’ve got it, Tessa!” Angel jumped up. A few people turned around and looked at her and she quieted down, “I can’t wait to get home to ask her!”

Chapter 11

Angel ran into the house and up the stairs. She ripped the closet door open… but Meghan (she’d started to think of the doll as Meghan) wasn’t there!! Panicked, she ripped around the room looking for it – throwing the covers on her bed back, pulling all her drawers open, even scrambling under the bed. Meghan was nowhere to be found.

“April if you’ve taken the doll again I’ll kill you!!!” she screamed, as she pounded into her sister’s room. Her sister started to cry.

“April no take!” she sobbed and Angel’s mum ran into the room too.

“Angel! You’re grounded! Calm your sister down, I don’t have time for this.” Her mum stormed out of the room.

“April, I’m sorry.” Angel hugged her sister, her brain still whirling. Where WAS Meghan? “But … are you sure you didn’t take it? Just to play? I won’t get mad if you did, just tell me where it is.”

“April no take,” April sniffed and hiccuped.

“OKOK, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll play with you later. I just need to find my doll, OK?” Angel hugged her sister again.

“OK!” April’s face brightened up.

Angel tore around the house looking for Meghan, but she was nowhere to be found. She collapsed onto her bed. She had no idea what to do. How was she going to help Meghan if she had vanished?

Later that evening, as she was helping her mum with dinner, Angel asked, “Mum, did you see the doll that Aunt Sylvia gave me for my birthday? It’s gone missing.”

“Ohhhh… That’s why you were tearing around the house and screaming at your sister. I saw it on the closet floor along with a bunch of your old clothes and toys so I thought you wanted to donate it away… remember the school charity drive asking for old clothes and toys? I gathered everything to send in today.”

“MUM! Aunt Sylvia gave it to me! How could you think I’d give it away?!”

“Well honestly, honey, I figured that you didn’t want it anymore. You’ve been acting very weird since you got it and, to be honest, I was glad you decided to give it away.”

“Mum!!!” Angel didn’t know what to do. “Call them NOW and ask for it back!!!! I NEED it!!!!”

“You’ll just have to ask them tomorrow when you go to school honey.”

Angel’s head started to pound. Would Meghan think she’d abandoned here again?? Would she be sad or angry? Would bad stuff start happening again?

She was back to not being able to concentrate and that night, she couldn’t fall asleep. Just as she was finally falling off to sleep, Angel heard a tapping sound. She jerked out of a half-dream and stared around wildly. Where was that sound coming from?

She suddenly realised it was coming from the window.

“What the … !?!?”

She ran to the window and pulled the curtains open. Meghan was standing right there on the ledge!! She ripped the window open and Meghan climbed in. Climbed! With her own little doll legs and arms, like an agile plastic spider.

“Meghan! You came back! Wow… you can move all on your own now???”

“Hi Angel. Yes, I finally got enough energy to move and talk on my own. Thanks to you! You believed in me!”

Angel was a bit freaked out, watching the doll move and talk.

“Wow… this is awesome! Now you can finally tell me what is going on!!” Angel hugged Meghan.

“First of all, thank you for not giving up on me,” said the Meghan-doll as she hugged Angel back. “I’m so glad I came to you rather than someone else who would definitely have thrown me out.”

“Yah, you’re lucky I’m into creepy stuff! Even then, I was ready to get rid of you… I was getting really creeped out and bad stuff started happening all around me,” Angel admitted.

“I don’t think I did that,” Meghan said. “I don’t think the curse makes me give bad luck to anyone.”

“Well then what’s been happening?? Anyway, tell me your story!! How did you end up like this???”

And the little doll settled itself down on her bedspread and began to tell her story…

Chapter 12

Meghan was silent for a while.

“I’m still not clear on everything that happened. One minute I was standing outside her house, the next minute I was… I was…”

“Meghan… Meghan… can you start from the beginning? Whose house?”

The little doll turned its eyes to Angel and her face, though fixed, seemed sorrowful.

“I was always fascinated by things that made my skin crawl.”

“Creepy stuff, just like me!”

“Yes, I think we have a lot in common. I heard about a woman who lived on the outskirts of town. She was rumoured to be… to have… powers.”

“A witch!? Cool!”

“Well, it wasn’t done to say that word in those days,” said the little doll, still looking with that curious, sober face. “People said it would bring bad luck. But yes, it was said that anyone who got on her bad side would end up with bad luck… or worse. Being curious, I had to investigate.”

The little doll paused as though to collect her thoughts. Angel waited.

“I went out to the woman’s house on a Sunday. I just wanted to see what she looked like, maybe see her doing something… out of the ordinary. I didn’t want to disturb her or cause any trouble, though, I promise. I just approached the house and peeped in through the window. The lady was cooking something… I couldn’t see what. I could smell rosemary. She stirred and stirred. I would have done anything to see what was in that pot. It was just a normal pot… just like my mother used at home to make spaghetti sauce… but who knew what she was cooking? Then she turned off the stove and sat down. She just sat there for a long time, not doing anything. At least I thought she was doing nothing, I wasn’t sure. Suddenly, she turned and looked straight at me. I froze. I could feel her eyes boring into me. I felt something strange happening inside of me and, suddenly, I unfroze and I ran. I ran all the way home and hid under my covers. I was shaking like a leaf – so frightened that I refused to come out. I spent the next few days in bed and everyone assumed I was sick.”

“You mean you didn’t turn into a doll straight away?” Angel felt like a doll herself. She was rooted to the spot, fascinated.

“No, I was just scared. I didn’t feel anything happen to me at all.”

Angel felt relieved, though she knew the story was bound to turn out badly. She was surprised to feel how much she was investing in the story. How vividly she could picture Meghan’s story. She felt like she was the one who had seen the old woman, stirring that pot and then gazing at her so strangely…

“But then, on the third day after she had seen me,” said the doll. “I woke up in a strange place I had never seen before. I went to bed as usual the night before, and I have no idea how it happened. But I was in some kind of shop! I worked out soon enough that it was an antique shop. I looked around and everything seemed bigger to me. I thought the strange lady had made me sick after all and that I was hallucinating. But after a while of walking around the shop, I realised it was real and something awful had happened… I finally looked into a mirror and was shocked… a doll was staring back at me. The doll looked like me.” Her pretty face was so shiny and fixed that it seemed to glisten with tears. “I guess I’ve been in that antique shop ever since…” she rounded off sadly.

“That’s terrible! You never saw your family again?” Angel felt so bad for Meghan, she could feel tears pricking her eyelids.

“No, never again.” Meghan put her head down and started to sob. Her stiff little body shook. Angel held her until she calmed down.

“I saw in the articles about you that your family never stopped looking for you,” she told the doll. “Your sister, especially, never gave up.” Angel tried to remember more from the articles. “I’ll bring you to the library to read them all again, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Meghan said. She seemed to compose herself. She gave a sad smile to Angel. Then Angel had a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Hey! That woman who did this to you… maybe we should try to find her and get her to change you back!”

“That’s a great idea, but…” Meghan was quiet for a while. “It’s been a long time…”

“60 years…” said Angel, realising.

“Yes.” Meghan put her head down, “She may not be alive anymore. She seemed old to me even at that time.”

“Oh man…” Angel hugged Meghan.

Was it possible they could find the woman who did this? And even if she was still alive, was there a chance that she would she change poor Meghan back?

Chapter 13

Angel smuggled Meghan to school in her backpack. Meghan wasn’t sure she wanted to do it – she didn’t want the memories to make her even more sad than she already was – but Angel thought it might actually make her feel better to share her stories of the good times she’d had in school.

“Everything looks … the same!” Meghan exclaimed quietly, as she sat half-in, half-out of Angel’s backpack. “Well, nearly everything. The wallpaper is different and… Oh! That whole wing wasn’t there when I was here!”

“Yep, I think the West Wing was added 10 years ago. It’s our performing arts centre where we do drama, music and film stuff.” Angel realised she was actually quite proud of the school.

“Film!” Meghan exclaimed. “You make films here? It doesn’t look like a large enough space!”

“Well, anything and everything can be filmed, you don’t need a big space, really…”

“Things have really changed,” Meghan said sadly. Angel wanted to cheer her new friend up.

“Oh! Hey! Tell me about your friends… what did you guys like to do together? What sports did you play?”

“Friends … well I didn’t have many friends, to be honest, because not many people understood why I was interested in… creepy stuff, you called it? I had just one very close friend who had the same interests as me. Her name was Jilly. We did everything together. She was supposed to come with me that day to the old lady’s house, but she was sick. Lucky for her,” she said regretfully.

“So you guys investigated creepy stuff together? Just like me and Tessa! Tessa’s my BFF. She’s not here today, she had to go to help her grandma out. She was one of the reasons I was so worried about you being evil… last week she vanished and I couldn’t get her on the phone, she wasn’t replying to my texts… I thought you’d done something to her!”

As soon as the words were out of Angel’s mouth, she regretted them. Angel thought that she felt the doll stiffen. But then Meghan said gently,

“Don’t worry, Angel. I understand why you thought that.”

Angel breathed a sigh of relief.

“BFF means Best Friends Forever,” Angel added, realising she might not have used that phrase so many years ago. Then she decided to change the subject altogether. “What was your favourite subject in school?”

“My favourite subject? I loved English Literature. Aside from being fascinated by strange things, I loved to read and write strange stories.”

Angel clapped. “Me too! Wow… we’re so alike, it’s…. creepy!” She laughed.

The bell rang and Angel went to homeroom. She kept getting weird looks from everyone, even the teachers, but she figured that was because she was carrying a really realistic-looking doll, and she supposed at her age, it was a little strange.

During lunchtime, Angel was walking down the corridor to the cafeteria when Mrs. Karmelita walked by and did a double take.

“Angel! Who… I mean… what is that in your backpack?!” the teacher blurted out.

“It’s just a doll, Mrs. K. It seems to be bothering everyone… should I put it into my locker?” Angel definitely didn’t want it taken away.

“No, there’s no need… it’s just that…” Mrs. Karmelita seemed flustered, which Angel had never seen happen. “Angel, did you know that your doll resembles Meghan? The girl who we held a vigil for at assembly?”

“I know! That’s why I brought her… I mean, it, to school… to show my friends. It was weird when I saw the slideshow of Meghan. I thought to myself ‘Oh wow! She looks exactly like my doll!’

Angel knew she was babbling and forced herself to stop. Mrs. Karmelita looked at Angel and then at the doll for an uncomfortably long time.

“My dear, why did you say ‘her’? What I mean is, obviously it’s a female doll, but a doll nonetheless, and you know we use the pronoun ‘it’ for inanimate objects.”

“Yes, sorry Mrs. K., I’m just kinda hungry and can’t concentrate right now. Can I go to lunch, please?” Angel kicked herself for that mistake. She knew Mrs. Karmelita, old as she was, was still as sharp as a pin, especially when it came to grammar and spelling.

“Yes, yes, of course, my apologies for keeping you from your lunch.” Mrs. Karmelita waved Angel off, then called to her. “Angel? Could I trouble you to come see me after school today, please? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Angel really wanted to get home to discuss things properly with Meghan, but there was something strange in Mrs. K’s voice…

Chapter 14

As soon as Mrs Karmelita walked away, Meghan tugged at Angel’s hair and whispered urgently, “That’s Jilly!!!!”

Angel spun around, forgetting that a) she was in the middle of the school hall and b) she was talking to someone in her backpack.

“What?!?! What do you mean that’s Jilly??”

“That teacher you were talking to… Mrs. K., you called her… that’s my best friend when we were in school together! K. stands for Karmelita, right? Jilly Karmelita!”

Meghan sounded so happy Angel didn’t want to say anything to upset her, but she knew how weird this was going to be.

“I can’t believe Jilly’s right here!” Meghan sounded over the moon. “She became a teacher… just like she wanted! And of course she’s teaching English Literature… she loved reading and writing!”

“What did you want to become?” Angel was curious.

“I wanted to become a writer. To put all the strange stories I had in my mind down on paper,” said Meghan dreamily, “After investigating the old lady, I had planned to build a story around it. I guess I became the story instead.”

Angel couldn’t help but smile at that. “Well, this is cool! You’re going to see you BFF for the first time in a long time!”

Angel knocked on Mrs. Karmelita’s classroom door after school. She was bursting with curiosity about how it would play out. Would she tell Mrs. K? Reveal Meghan? She actually wanted to, but was worried Mrs. K. would think she was going crazy. Mrs. K. was cool most of the time, and Meghan did say she was into creepy stuff when she was young, but she was old now and that could have changed.

“Come in, Angel,” Mrs. Karmelita called from her desk. “Sit down, my dear.”

Noticing Angel’s worried face, she smiled, “Don’t worry, Angel, you’re not in any trouble. I just wanted to find out more about your doll. It really gave me a shock when I saw it this morning. You know, it really does look like Meghan.”

Angel decided to take a chance. “Mrs. K., did you… did you know Meghan? I think she was the same age as you when were you in school together or something?”

Mrs. Karmelita sighed.

“Yes, we were schoolmates here. As a matter of fact, we were the best of friends.”

“Wow! Tell me more!” Angel felt Meghan twitch in her backpack.

“May I request something, dear. Could you put the doll on the table please? I would very much like to look at it.” Mrs. K almost sounded awkward.

“Sure!” Angel took her backpack off, put it on the table and gently took Meghan out.

“My, the resemblance is uncanny!” Mrs. Karmelita whispered, staring at Meghan. “Meghan was… she was such a sweet girl. She was my best friend – we did everything together. We loved to read and write… well, that’s why I’m an English Literature teacher now.” Mrs. Karmelita smiled wistfully.

“Just like me and Tessa!” exclaimed Angel. She was trying really hard to pretend she didn’t know this already.

“Yes, we’re more similar than you know, Angel.” Mrs. Karmelita smiled at Angel. “We were both fascinated with the unusual too, again like yourself and Tessa. Our dream was to investigate the paranormal and write about it.” Mrs. Karmelita suddenly drew closer to Meghan. “Did I just see a gleam in the doll’s eye? Meghan’s eyes used to gleam like that when she got excited about something…”

“Hi, Jilly! It’s me! Meghan!” Meghan winked at Mrs. Karmelita.

Mrs. Karmelita jumped back and screamed. “What ! How…?”

She staggered back and Angel rushed to help her.

Chapter 15

“Calm down, Mrs. K., here, sit down. Let me explain everything.”

Angel beckoned Mrs Karmelita went into the hallway. She closed the door behind them, leaving Meghan in the room. Mrs Kermelita looked so overwhelmed that Angel thought it was better to prepare her before she came face-to-face with her transformed friend again.

“Mrs. K., I know this is going to be hard to believe, but… you know how Meghan disappeared?”

Mrs Karmelita, breathing heavily, nodded. She sat down on one of the chairs in the hallway. Angel sat down next to her.

“Well, she didn’t go anywhere,” Angel told her.  “You remember that old lady you were going to investigate with her? The one everyone thought was a witch?” Mrs Karmelita winced but said nothing. “Well, she went to the house, but the old lady caught her snooping around. So she cursed her and put her soul in a doll.”

“That doll?” Mrs Karmelita looked back at the room where they had left Meghan.

“Yes,” Angel confirmed. “When Meghan’s soul was sent into the doll, it started to look more and more like her as time passed, but nobody noticed because she was stuck in an antique shop.”

“How did she come to be with you?” Mrs. Karmelita said, still sounding stunned.

“My Aunt happened to walk into the antique shop and saw her. She bought her for my birthday. She’s the one who kind of got me into creepy things, so every year I can’t wait to see what gift she’ll find for me.” Angel looked down. “I wish Aunt Sylvia was here… she’d know what to do.”

“I was supposed to go with Meghan to that woman’s house,” Mrs. Karmelita thought out loud. “Imagine what would have happened if I had? You would have an entirely different English Literature teacher and I… I would have ended up a doll, just like Meghan.” She shuddered. “Poor Meghan. She must have been terrified, and all alone. I should have been there for her.” She put her head down and wiped her eyes. Meghan sniffled too.

“Mrs. K., I know it’s freaky… believe me, it took me a long time to relax into the idea. But I think Meghan wants to talk to you like you guys used to. Would you be OK doing that?”

Mrs. Karmelita’s eyes teared up even more. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that. Please give me a moment to compose myself.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief andthen finally stood up. They went back in the room together. Mrs Karmelita took Meghan in her hands and hugged her.

“Meghan, my best friend!” she cried.

“Jilly!” Meghan’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been waiting for so long to talk to you again! I wasn’t even sure I would ever have the chance again.”

It was funny, but as Mrs Karmelita spoke with Meghan, she lost all traces of the teacher in her voice, and sounded only like a young girl again, animated, talking with her friend.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Meghan. I should have been there… you should have waited for me,” Mrs. Karmelita’s eyes teared up again.

“Jilly, you know me, I wouldn’t have waited for the world once I got wind of something! I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Meghan, you know your sister never gave up looking for you?” Mrs. Karmelita told her.

“Yes, I know. Angel showed me the articles. Thank goodness for Angel!”

Meghan turned to Angel. “Thank you for keeping me, and for looking a little deeper below the surface. I am so lucky to have your help!”

Angel blushed, “Awww… I wasn’t always very nice to you, Meghan. Sending you to the garage, then the charity bin!”

“How could you have known? I don’t hold it against you!” Meghan laughed.

Angel blushed deeper, “I’m glad to hear that! But what do we do now? I mean… you don’t want to be stuck in a doll anymore, do you?”

Meghan shook her head violently. Mrs. Karmelita suddenly sat up.

“Meghan! I’ve read something on this before. Cursed dolls. The only way to break the curse is for the original person who placed it to lift it.”

Angel shook her head. “Mrs. K., I’ve already thought of that but, surely the old lady who did this to Meghan is already… has already…”

“Passed away,” Mrs. Karmelita sighed. “That is most likely the case. Oh dear, what can we do?”

“I’ll research into it,” Angel said resolutely. “Don’t worry, Meghan, I’ll try my best!”

“As will I,” chimed in Mrs. K.

Angel left the two old friends to catch up. She meant what she had said. But where would she start?

Chapter 16

Meghan tried to remember where the old lady’s house was, but it was difficult. They ended up narrowing the possibilities down to five old ladies who were rumoured to dabble into supernatural practices.

“What should we do now? Go check out each of these old ladies?” Angel asked.

“I think that’s the only thing we can do. Angel, call your mother to let her know you’re with me,” Mrs. Karmelita advised.

“OK, good idea,” Angel agreed. She went to call her mother, then got into Mrs. Karmelita’s car. As they drove out to the outskirts of town, the three of them discussed their plan.

“I don’t think we should show Meghan to her straight away,” Angel said. “She might get angry and zap us all into dolls, then we’d be in big trouble. Omigod, maybe we should have written a note and left it on your table, Mrs. K., in case something happens to us.”

“That sounds rather melodramatic, but given the circumstances, you might be right, Angel,” Mrs. Karmelita agreed.

Angel gasped, “I know! I’ll text Tessa and tell her where we’re going. She’ll definitely keep an eye out for me.” She pulled her phone out, but then noticing something, she stopped.

“Hey, are you OK Meghan?” She felt Meghan trembling in her arms.

“I… I’m terrified. I never wanted to see that woman again, and here we are looking for her,” Meghan stammered.

Mrs. Karmelita assured her, “Don’t worry, Meghan, we’re here to help you.”

Angel wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t say anything.

“I know you mean well, Jilly,” said Meghan. “But you didn’t see the look in her eyes.” The little doll shuddered. “It was as if she was looking right into my soul! I’ve never forgotten it!”

“We have to try, Meghan. I promise we’ll be as careful as possible,” Mrs. Karmelita reassured her.

They reached the outskirts of town and started looking around for the closest address on their list. After a while of driving around, they finally found it. “It definitely looks like the house of a witch!” Angel excitedly exclaimed. Mrs. Karmelita and Meghan winced.

Mrs. Karmelita parked the car and they looked at each other, not sure what to do.

“I think we should try to observe the house first, before talking to anyone,” Mrs. Karmelita suggested.

“That makes sense,” Angel agreed. “Meghan, does this house look familiar to you at all?”

“No, it doesn’t. But it was so long ago. I’ll never forget her, though, so the easiest way to find her is if I see her… which I definitely do NOT want to do,” Meghan repeated again. “I’m not sure I want to be peeking into anyone’s window anymore!”

“Right now we’re just observing, Meghan. We can decide what to do when and if we find her,” Mrs. Karmelita said gently. Her little friend was trembling more than ever.

They waited and waited and finally the postman rang the doorbell. Everyone in the car tensed when the door was opened by an old woman, but Meghan said, “That’s not her.”

They went to the next house. And then next one. And soon they had visited all of the houses on the list. But Meghan said that none of the old ladies who lived in the houses were the same one as the woman who had enchanted her.

It was getting late and they didn’t want to be there in the evening.

“Don’t worry, Angel, we’ll come back tomorrow. I’m free the whole summer and I want to help my friend out,” Mrs. Karmelita said, patting Meghan on the arm. But everyone was disappointed. Angel could feel it in the air.

They rode home in silence. “I”ll pick you girls up at 9am tomorrow and we’ll get a fresh, early start,” Mrs. Karmelita promised as she dropped them off.

But 9am the next morning, she didn’t come.

Chapter 17

Angel and Meghan waited until ten in the morning for Mrs. Karmelita to come, but still she didn’t come.

“Where could she be??” Angel paced the living room. “I hope nothing bad happened to her! Omigod omigod! What if the witch knew we were coming to look for her and zapped Mrs. K. first?!”

“Poor Jilly! Let’s give up, Angel. Thank you for all your help, but maybe I should just be contented as a doll for the remainder of my days.” Even Meghan’s eyes, which were glass, seemed overshadowed with worry.

“No! Mrs. K. was right,” Angel suddenly exclaimed. “We have to at least try to see if this works. I’m not going to give up! If Mrs. K.’s in trouble, I’m going to try to help her too!”

“That’s one of the things I most admire about you, Angel, your courage in the face of all odds. You’re right, if Jilly is in trouble, we’d better help. And we should see this thing through.” The little doll took a breath. “OK, I’m ready to face the witch!”

Meghan’s about-turn surprised Angel, but she was glad.

“Let’s go! I’m going to take the bus out there… hmmm, what should I tell my mum?”

“Well, much as I hate to tell fibs, you could tell her the same thing you did yesterday… that you are with Jilly, to work on a special writing project,” Meghan suggested.

“Cool!”

Angel went to look for her mum and tell her, with Meghan accompanying her inside her backpack. After Angel had told her mum the excuse they’d invented (and thankfully her mum believed every word…), they headed for the bus station.

As they rode the bus, they whispered their plans – in case somebody who shouldn’t hear happened to be around.

“Where do we start now? We’ve checked out the ladies we thought could be the ones. Now we’re at zero.”

“Perhaps we could ask around?”

Meghan still seemed hopeful. Perhaps it was her bravery that was making her so positive and determined.

“Hmmmm…. it’s gonna be so random,” Angel frowned.

“We don’t have another option, I think,” the doll reminded Angel.

The bus pulled up to their stop then.

“Here we go,” said Angel, moving off the bus. When the bus had pulled away from the kerb, she looked around. “But where do we go now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Meghan would have shrugged if she’d been able to.

“OK… let’s go… right.”

Angel turned and walked down the street. She screwed up the courage and asked anybody she could find if they knew of any ‘strange ladies’ she could interview for her school project. She got a lot of stares and evil eye signs, but no help. By mid-afternoon, they were losing steam.

“Nobody knows anything!” Angel exclaimed, annoyed. She sat down on the pavement and put her chin in her hands. Suddenly a shadow fell over them.

“Are you looking for Mistress Selina? Heard you’re looking for her,” a small voice enquired. Angel jumped up and in the backpack, felt Meghan shiver against her spine.

“W-what? How did you know that? Who’s Mistress Selina??” she stammered.

“Follow me,” the boy said, not answering.

They walked for what seemed like miles and miles. Angel looked down at her watch but it had stopped so she couldn’t tell the time. Meghan seemed tense in her backpack. “Do you think this is it?” she heard the small doll’s voice whisper at one moment. Angel turned a little and whispered back,

“I feel all tingly … I don’t know if it’s a sign.”

They finally arrived at a tiny shack way out near the swamps. The mysterious boy turned to them, “Mistress Selina is waiting for you.” He pointed at the door then walked off.

Angel stared at the door of the shack. Then she remembered Meghan, and took the doll out of her backpack. Poor Meghan was shaking.

“I feel her! I feel her! Oh no! Please get me away from here! This was a bad idea!”

Angel tried to calm Meghan as much as she could but she was shaking just as much as the doll was. There was a creepy feeling in the air and they couldn’t stop jumping at every sound. Then the door opened. —-

Chapter 18

Angel stepped in, trembling like a leaf. Meghan was vibrating in her arms and she had to hold on tight so she wouldn’t drop her.

“O-OK, you’re right, Meghan, m-maybe t-this wasn’t such a g-good idea,” Angel whispered.

They looked around the room they had just entered. It was dark and smelled like incense.

“The air feels like it’s watching me,” Angel whispered.

“Me too,” whispered Meghan.

“So… you have come back to disturb Mistress Selina again,” a quavering voice floated out of the gloom.

Angel spun around, trying to see where the voice was coming from.

“Come closer, child, so that Mistress Selina can see you with her old, failing eyes,” the voice crooned. Exactly like a witch, Angel thought.

“I remember you, child, you were snooping around my house,” the voice continued, and Meghan let out a little squeak of fear. Angel jumped again. Her eyes darted around the dark room. Where was Mistress Selina??

Suddenly a light clicked on and they were staring at two sunken eyes in a very wrinkled, thin face. Long straggly hair surrounded the face and a toothless grin made Angel’s skin crawl.

“Ah, child, it wasn’t enough that you came to disturb me all those years ago, but now you have brought another curious thrill-seeker to gawp and stare at me?” The witch pointed accusingly at Meghan. Angel quickly hid the doll behind her back, took a deep breath and let it all out in one long desperate sentence.

“Wait… Mistress Selina we are sorry but we really didn’t come here to disturb you. Meghan is really sorry she disturbed you all those years ago but she’s learned her lesson. Mistress Selina, she really has, and she’ll never bother anyone again if you change her back to her human self. And me? I’m just trying to help her…”

The witch’s eyes stared long and hard at Angel until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She was about to try to turn and run when Mistress Selina beckoned to her with her finger. She couldn’t resist walking towards the old crone even though she felt like she was walking on an earthquake. She nearly dropped Meghan twice and had to fumble to keep holding her.

When Angel was standing too near to Mistress Selina to run away, the witch suddenly stuck her long nose closer to her and took a long sniff.

“I’m checking if you’re telling the truth, child. My eyes tell me you are, but my nose must tell me the same story too, or you’ll meet the same fate as your friend.”

The witch sniffed longer until she was satisfied.

“As for you, my snooping child…” the witch held out her hand for Meghan, who screamed and pressed herself so hard against Angel that it was Angel’s turn to squeak. “Out with you, my little snooper, unless you want to be turned into a croaking toad instead!” Mistress Selina’s voice was so angry when she spoke to Meghan.

“I’m sorry, Meghan, I hope it’s going to be alright” Angel whispered. She handed the doll to Mistress Selina. Mistress Selina peered hard at Meghan, then sniffed her for a long time too.

“Lucky for you, snooping one, your brave friend was telling the truth,” Mistress Selina said to the doll. She set Meghan on the table. Angel quickly took Meghan back and hugged her.

“So why are you here, if not to snoop on me again? I am an old woman now, why can’t I be left alone?” Mistress Selina sat down on a very old armchair.

“Mistress Selina,” Angel tried to sound calm. “Meghan has been a doll for many many years. She’s very sorry for what she did.  She’d like to go back to being human. Please, could you change her back? She promises to never disturb anyone again.”

“Hmmm… I guess it’s been long enough. I’ll do it, but you’d better keep your word, now, do you hear?”

Angel and Meghan hugged excitedly. “We promise!!” they said together.

“You’ll need to get three things for me from the swamp,” Mistress Selina said slowly, “Now, let me see…”

Angel and Meghan looked at each other, worried again.

“…I’ll need a cup full of crocodile tears, two pinching princes and ten lump raisers,” the witch said.

“But we…” started Angel. To no avail.

Mistress Selina waved them away and walked back into the gloom.

What could they do !

Chapter 19

Angel stood outside Mistress Selina’s shack, not sure where to turn.

“What on Earth are crocodile’s tears, pinching princes and lump raisers?!” She scratched her head. “Well, I guess they sound like things from the swamp, so I’ll head there, what do you think, Meghan?”

“Yes, you’re right, they do sound like swamp things, especially as Mistress Selina said so. But… how on Earth are we going to figure it out?” Meghan was puzzled too.

“No idea,” sighed Angel, “But we’ve come this far, I guess we have to try.”

They walked for a while and finally got to the edge of the swamp.

“Ergh! I’m NOT going in THERE!!” Angel stepped back. The swamp stank of mud, stale water and green.

“But it’s the only option we have,” Meghan reminded her.

“Okay for you,” said Angel. “You’re plastic!” Despite the seriousness of the situation, the two girls almost smiled at each other.

“I will help you,” a voice suddenly said, startling them from behind. Angel jumped and spun around. It was the mysterious boy once more.

“How… how did you get there?!?!” Angel stammered.

The boy didn’t say anything but turned around and walked into the swamp.

“Ergh! I guess we have no choice,” Angel sighed and followed him in.

They walked for what seemed like a long time but Angel couldn’t see anything that could be crocodile tears, pinching princes or lump raisers.

“Hey! Hey boy, where are we going? Do you actually have a plan?” she called after the boy. The boy just waved them on and kept walking. After a while, he stopped and turned to them.

“Now what?” Angel asked, confused. There was nothing around them but swamp and more swamp. The boy sat down and started fiddling with a weed. Angel looked around. “Stinky swamp, stinky swamp, stinky swamp. Hmmmm …”

Suddenly the water splashed up in a huge wave and an alligator snapped at Angel! She jumped back and screamed, managing to avoid the snapping jaws. She tried to run, but her legs had turned to jelly and the mud was sticky. She avoided the snapping jaws but the alligator turned for another lunge. Meghan screamed from inside the backpack, “Watch out, Angel!!!”

Suddenly the alligator fell. Angel looked around, confused but grateful. The boy was holding a catapult and had shot a big stone at the alligator.

“But… but… how could a stone stop an alligator???” Angel puzzled.

Meghan screamed, her voice loud and muffled from inside the backpack,

“NEVERMIND, RUN!!!”

Angel didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted out of there. She ran for a long time. She plunged through sticks and swampy mud until she finally had to stop when she couldn’t run anymore.

Panting, she looked around. She was surrounded by… swamp, swamp and more swamp. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

“Meghan, we’re in big trouble now!” Angel said slowly. The sounds of the swamp were getting louder now and Angel figured it was coming to evening. She did NOT want to get stuck here when night came, but she had no idea how to get out.

It was all a bit much, even if she was now eleven years old. She sat down and started to cry, really scared now. But after a few minutes she felt better, as crying often makes people feel better. She sat in tired silence for a few moments, thinking. Meghan was silent in her backpack. Then all of a sudden, clear thoughts ran back into her mind. She jumped up.

“I’ve got it!! I think I know what ‘crocodile tears’ means! I think it’s just salty swamp water!!”

Meghan’s little voice piped up from the backpack, “You might be right, Angel, now it rings a bell in my head… I think I’ve heard that expression before! I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before.”

Angel took Meghan from the backpack and hugged her. It was amazing how hugging a doll can always make you feel better.

“No worries, Meghan, we’ve been through a lot of scary stuff today!”

She took the vial that Mistress Selina had given her out of the backpack. “Ergh, I don’t even want to be touching this yucky stuff and now I have to scoop it up?!”

She scooped the water until the vial was full, then capped it.

“OK, hopefully we’re right about this first thing, but… how am I going to get it back to Mistress Selina?”

Angel looked around the swamp again, and realised with dread that she was lost. Hopelessly lost.

Chapter 20

Angel turned around and around, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her voice came out shaky.

“Meghan… I think… I think we’re really lost now.” Angel’s voice broke and she started to cry again. The sky above was getting dark and the animal sounds were getting louder all around them.

“Oh no… oh no,” Meghan panicked. Angel took a deep breath and pulled herself together.

“I’m going to keep walking in this direction. Hopefully I’ll get to the other side of the swamp or something.”

“It’s… it’s getting darker, Angel!” Meghan’s voice was filled with fear. “Maybe we should find a shelter to hide in for the night.”

As soon as Meghan said that, a loud clap of thunder shook the trees around them, followed by a bright flash of lightning. A heavy rain began to crash down. Soaking wet, Angel started to run blindly. Crashing into fallen branches and scraping her legs, she eventually found an old abandoned hut. She ran inside and tried her best to avoid getting any more wet.

Meghan started to cry, “This is the hut I tried to hide in when Mistress Selina saw me! Her magic still found me, nevertheless!”

“But wait… If Mistress Selina’s magic found you then, then she can find us here now!” Angel realised.

“Yes but how do we get the message to her?” Meghan pointed out.

Suddenly, Meghan’s little mouth opened and Mistress Selina’s voice came out!

“Follow me. I am in her now.” Mistress Selina said through Meghan. The doll jumped out of the backpack and started to walk.

Angel gave a little squeak of shock, then realised it was probably because Mistress Selina’s magic was strong enough to reach them in the swamp. She followed Meghan out into the rain… but they weren’t getting wet!

“What … how is it happening??” Angel looked around in wonder. Then she realised that Mistress Selina was actually helping her along the way! “Way to go, Mistress Selina!”

Angel cheered up and kept following Meghan. They walked and walked, not turning left or right for a long time. Angel was enjoying the weird sensation of seeing rain all around her but not feeling it touch her and soak her. “I could get used to this!” She jauntily strutted. A stream of rain poured down onto her head. “Oh! Oh … OK, OK, I won’t expect VIP treatment. Sorry!” Mistress Selina was actually watching them! Angel wondered if it was through a crystal ball… but she hadn’t see one at the witch’s house…

They finally found their way back to the shack and went in.

“Will she get angry if we wet her floor?” Angel wondered, but couldn’t do anything about it.

“So, my child, you figured out the first puzzle.”

Mistress Selina’s voice made Angel jump. “Y-yes, Mistress Selina, at least I think I did,” stammered Angel.

“Come here and give them to me, then, child!” The witch’s voice suddenly sharpened and Angel ran over to give her the vial of crocodile tears.

Mistress Selina took the vial, opened it and poured it into a giant black pot that Angel hadn’t seen in the room before. Puffs of stinky green smoke puffed out.

“Ergh, I hope you don’t have to drink that,” whispered Angel to Meghan who shushed her fearfully. Muttering, the witch stirred the concoction in the pot. Foul smelling steam rose up and choked Angel. Even Meghan gagged a little.

“Good, good, this will do. Now, off to find the other ingredients! It doesn’t matter what order you bring them to me in, they all go in the pot, just the same!” said Mistress Selina.

“Erm… does it have to be tonight, Mistress Selina? It’s getting late and I need to be home before my Mum freaks…”

For Angel had suddenly remembered her Mum.

“Off with you, then!” Mistress Selina cried. “But if you want your friend to ‘get better’ soon, you’d better work fast!”

Angel got out of the witch’s house as fast as she could, and made her way back to the bus stand. As she was half-running down the street, a page from a newspaper got caught on her foot. She glanced at it and saw… a picture of Mistress Selina!

She grabbed the page and read it frantically. Mistress Selina was wanted for questioning in a few disappearance cases! So she was still at it! Or… was she being wrongly accused?

Chapter 21

Angel’s head started to pound… maybe this was the way to help Meghan: to turn Mistress Selina in to the police and ask them to force her to change Meghan back. On the other hand, Mistress Selina was already helping Meghan and this might take longer. Who knew what the authorities would do? Would they even be able to force Mistress Selina to change all those people back into human form, or would they just throw her in jail? Either way, Meghan would be stuck waiting and Mistress Selina might also be so angry she might refuse to help.

“What do we do?” Angel asked Meghan.

“I don’t want to turn Mistress Selina in to the authorities,” Meghan replied. “I know why she did what she did to me… I don’t think she was evil, she just didn’t want people snooping around on her. Maybe she just doesn’t think much about how her action affects others. But she’s helping us now… I think we shouldn’t say anything.”

Angel nodded. “I agree. I just hope she doesn’t get caught before we can turn you back into a human!”

The next day, Angel planned to tell her mum that she was spending the day with Tessa.

“Mum, I’m off with Tess now! See you!” Angel said to her mum, as casually as possible. But her Mum had other plans.

“No, Angel, I don’t think you and Tessa should go out what with these disappearances. I’m sorry to ruin your summer fun, honey, but you’d better play it safe.”

“But… but…” Angel was desperate. “We’re just going to Mrs. Karmelita’s house! We’re working on a summer project.”

“Hmmmm… how about Mrs. Karmelita bringing Tessa here? I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Angel knew her Mum was trying to compromise.

“Nooooooo Mum. Look, how about I call you when I’m there? Just so you’ll know I’m OK?” Angel felt horrible lying to her Mum, but she had no choice – she HAD to get out there.

“Hmmmm… OK, I could live with that. Make sure you do!” Angel’s mum said at last.

“OK!” Angel felt worse and worse, but there was nothing she could do. She ran off towards Tessa’s house, but then turned the corner to the bus stop.

“I really hope we can figure this out today!” Angel whispered to Meghan on the bus. “Mistress Selina could get nabbed anytime and then our chances of turning you back into a human will be zilch!”

“Zilch?” Meghan asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh … I mean zero,” Angel explained.

“Yes, if I could cross my fingers, I would!” Meghan gave a small laugh.

“Hey! We still cross our fingers, for good luck!” Angel exclaimed.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying their first ‘happy together’ moment ever since the whole adventure started.

The bus finally arrived at their stop and they got out.

“Back to the swamp it is, then!”

For some reason, Angel was feeling upbeat. She walked into the swamp and started looking around.

“Pinching pincers… pinching pincers… hmmm…”

But by mid-morning Angel wasn’t feeling so positive anymore.

“If Mistress Selina could help us yesterday with the rain, why can’t she help us find all this stuff she needs?” she muttered, stirring the mud with the tip of her sneaker. “The rain was an act of nature that had nothing to do with our quest to find the potion ingredients. I think the quest was set to work off my bad deed…”

Meghan looked abashed.

“Sorry, Angel, to put you through all this for me. I wish I could do it myself.”

Angel patted Meghan.

“Hey, don’t get down on yourself. I offered to help, right?” Then Angel’s stomach started to growl. “Aw, man, I didn’t eat any breakfast! I’m starving! That’s probably why I’m so grouchy,” she sighed. “Wish I’d remembered to bring some snacks!”

By noon, Angel felt dizzy. “I didn’t even bring water!! I’m gonna die in this swamp,” she cried and sat down again.

Chapter 22

Angel sat crying for a long while. Nothing Meghan said helped. Suddenly, Angel jumped up. “Hey! Something pinched me!”

She hopped around, her toe bleeding a little and saw… crabs!

“Hey I didn’t know there were crabs here!! Wait… crabs! Pinching pincers… crabs! Wow, I figured it out!!!”

“Good job, Angel, I think you’re right!” Meghan cheered Angel on.

“How many did Mistress Selina say she needed? Three? Zoiks… how am I gonna catch them?” Angel wondered.

“Well, normally there are cages for them to crawl into and then they snap shut, but we don’t have cages. I’m afraid you might just have to use your hands!” Meghan volunteered. Angel thought she could certainly only say this because her own hands were dolls’ hands, and made of wood.

“Zoiks! I wish I had gloves,” said Angel. “OK, here goes!”

Angel ran around grabbing crabs, which wasn’t too hard, but she got pinched so much that it hurt! The crabs she had caught kept crawling away from the rock she had put them on, too.

“Man … this is NOT working!” Angel exclaimed, furious. Her hands were covered in red marks from being nipped by the crabs and she hadn’t managed to keep one crab still.

“Here’s some string from your backpack,” Meghan offered, “Maybe you can try tying them to something? I also found some handkerchiefs to wrap around your hands… ugh… this one might be dirty.”

“Hey, thanks!” Angel tied the handkerchiefs around her hands and went after another crab. “Got it!” She quickly tied it to a big root and kept on going after crabs.

Pretty soon, she had three all tied up.

“Whew! I should have thought of that from the start! Thanks Meghan!”

They brought the crabs back to Mistress Selina, who threw the shells into the potion pot and made a crab salad with the meat. It wasn’t until they had eaten every last thing in the bowl that Angel realised it was getting late.

“Thanks for the yummy food, Mistress Selina, but I’d better get going home! I’ll come back tomorrow to figure out the last thing in the puzzle.”

On the bus, Angel’s tummy started to squeeze.

“OMG! OW! What’s happening!? Did Mistress Selina poison me?? Was it bad crab?? I can’t be sick now, I’ve got to finish this!!” Angel was freaking out. When she got home, Angel’s stomach was churning but as soon as her key hit the door her mum came flying out.

“YOUNG LADY WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN?! You promised to call me but you didn’t! It’s so late now and I’ve been worried sick! You’re grounded until further notice. Go to your room!”

Angel had never seen her mum so mad. She started to say she was sorry but then something crazy happened. A giant burp escaped instead! She looked at her mum, stunned, then they both burst out laughing.

When they stopped, her mum looked at her.

“Angel, you look sick! Well, I’m still mad at you for freaking me out, but come on to bed, I’ll get you something for your tummy.”

Angel didn’t feel well at all, so she accepted the offer gratefully and fell into bed. When she finally woke up, it was the next morning! Luckily her tummy felt fine.

She sniffed, smelled icky swamp and went to bathe.

“Yuck, I was so tired I didn’t even bathe!”

She ran downstairs to tell her mum she was off with Tessa, then she remembered what had happened when she got home yesterday.

“Uhm, Mum, erm… I’m so sorry for not calling you yesterday when I promised I would. I got so into the project I… I forgot! I know I freaked you out… I’m so sorry… I promise I will today…”

“Today?” Mum said brightly.

Angel was on high alert – her mum’s voice sounded too cheery.

“Oh no, Angel you’re not going anywhere today… or for the rest of the summer break. You’re grounded, young lady because you freaked me out and also for your own safety. When I’m in the mood, I’ll let you invite people over, but until then, you can spend your time helping me around the house.

“BUT MUMMMMMMMM” Angel wailed, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her mum was too calm to be OK. After breakfast, Angel packed her bag and climbed out the window.

“I’m a dead duck with mum, but I have to finish this thing!” she thought to herself, as she shimmied down the drainpipe, against all sense and reason…

Chapter 23

On the bus, Angel was quiet. She sensed that Meghan wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to say. So when they arrived, Angel walked to the swamp without a word.

Suddenly she jumped! The boy was right in front of her!

“Where did you come from?!?!” Angel blurted out, but she was glad to have him around, though he didn’t say much. She hoped he would stay around longer than he did last time. “Guess what! I found out what ‘crocodile tears’ and ‘pinching pinchers’ were! Now all I need to find are the ‘lump raisers’. Any ideas?”

As usual, there was no reply from the boy. They walked quietly for a while, then the boy stopped. Angel looked around. There wasn’t much around except more swamp. Suddenly she felt her foot being nipped.

“Hey! Ouch! Oh man, not again!” she hopped around. “Dude,” she said to the boy, “I’ve FOUND the pinching pincers already!! Or, they found me, or whatever, but that’s done! I’m looking for lump raisers now!”

But right then Meghan screamed, and Angel whipped around to see… another crocodile! Its giant mouth was wide open, coming straight at her!! Angel screamed and jumped backwards.

“I’VE FIGURED OUT WHAT CROCODILE TEARS WERE!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!!”

She turned to run, but then remembered what had happened the first time.

“SHOOT IT, OR SOMETHING!!!!” Angel screamed at the boy. Finally the boy whipped out his catapult and shot at the crocodile who fell to the water and crawled off.

Angel glared at the boy.

“Are you bringing all these things to me? I told you, I’ve already figured out those two things. If you really are bringing stuff to me, help me with those lump raisers!”

She immediately realised she should be extra nice to the boy if he was actually doing all this because a) he was helping her, in a way, and b) he also had some kind of weird ability.

“OKOK, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Can you please help me figure out what lump raisers are? I really need to help my friend turn back into a human and then get home… I’m in a gallon of hot soup with my mum.”

The boy didn’t say anything. Angel walked around the swamp until she felt like she was wandering around in a circle.

“Argh!!! What are lump raisers! Come on!! Ouch!” She slapped at her leg. Then her arm. Then her face, “Yeow!!! Get OFF me, silly mosquitoes!!!”

“Mosquitoes?” Meghan suddenly piped up. “Angel, look down at your arms and legs!”

“Oh! Ohhhhhhh! LUMP RAISERS!!! Mosquitoes!!!!” Angel shouted, “But… how do we catch ten of them?!”

“Well, they’re attracted to you…” Meghan guessed.

“Zoiks… you mean… I’m supposed to be bait??” Angel squeaked. “Gosh, when you put it like that, I don’t feel very good,”

Meghan regretted what she’d said. “

No… no… it’s brilliant! I’m just gonna need a whole lot of ointment after this!” Angel felt surprisingly good. “It’s bizarre, but it might work! OKOK… erm… boy … I’ll stand with my arms out and, when the mosquitoes land on me, smack ‘em! Not too hard, though, don’t forget!!”

The boy came over and nodded. Angel steeled herself and stretched her arms out. Almost immediately a mosquito landed on her!

“Whack it! Whack it!” Angel shouted. The boy smacked it and it fell into the swamp. “Oh dang! I forgot to tell you, you gotta catch them in something to keep!” Angel smacked her forehead. “What can we catch them in?”

“How about the sweet tin you have in here?” Meghan asked from Angel’s bag.

“Perfect!” Angel emptied the sweets out and gave the tin to the boy. “We need ten! Go go go!”

They actually had a lot of fun catching mosquitoes, but by the end of it, Angel was covered in big red welts.

“Mum’s gonna be even more furious! But… I think we’re finally done! And you’re gonna be OK, Meghan!”

Angel was really happy for the first time since all this had begun.

“Let’s get this back to Mistress Selina. Which way do we go?” Angel asked the boy.

They got back to Mistress Selina’s house and handed her the tin of mosquitoes which she emptied into the pot. A ghostly green light flared up.

Chapter 24

A flickering scene’ started up in the green smoke coming out of the pot. As they watched, they saw Meghan creeping up to the window of Mistress Selina’s house and peeping in. The witch was stirring something in the same pot that they saw in front of them right now, just as Meghan had described to Angel. The green smoke of the scene spread all around and seemed to waft out of the pot in the scene too, which made Angel feel woozy and disoriented. Then, as they watched the images in the green smoke, Mistress Selina put her spatula down and turned off the stove. She moved slowly to a chair that was facing the window and sat down.

Angel jumped as the perspective of the scene suddenly changed from the view of someone looking in, to… the view from the witch’s eyes! She gave a little shriek and jumped back. Through the witch’s eyes, she stared at a swirling purple vortex in front of her. Then, suddenly, the view swooped to the window where Meghan was peeping in! Angel/the witch saw Meghan! At that instant, the swirling purple vortex shot out and swirled around Meghan. Then the whole scene dissolved and Angel was left shaking like a leaf.

“You did send a curse to Meghan that day, Mistress Selina. I saw it… it was purple… swirling… “ Angel said, dazed.

“Yes, I did,” said Mistress Selina. “As I said, I was sick of busybodies poking about my business and laughing and staring at me. All I wanted was to be left alone. I taught her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.”

“I… I didn’t want to cause you any trouble, Mistress Selina, and I wasn’t going to gossip,” Meghan spoke up timidly. “I was just curious and very interested in all the good things that ladies like yourself can do, like healing without medicine, helping people who feel bad feel better, connecting people with a loved one who has passed…”

Mistress Selina looked at Meghan, thoughtful.

“You know, nobody has ever talked about the good that we do… they only ever focus on the ‘bad’ things we do… curses, revenge spells… You’re the first to be interested in how we can actually help people. I do believe I was wrong about you, Meghan.”

The smoke rose. The scene swirled up from the pot again and all eyes turned back to watch it. This time, it showed…

“My house! My home sweet home!” Meghan cried, delighted. “I never thought I’d see it again!” Then her voice became sad. The front door of the cute little semi-D opened and…

“MUMMY!” Meghan cried. A tear started from her eye. In the scene, Meghan’s mum had her head down and was sobbing. A man walked out to cover her shoulders with a cardigan and put his arm around her. He led her to the porch swing and they sobbed together for a long time.

“Daddy…” Meghan whispered in tears, “I’ve never seen Daddy cry!”

The smoke swirled and now a new scene showed up. Angel and Meghan watched search parties combing the swamp and surrounding areas.

“They’re searching for you, Meghan,” Angel whispered, choking up herself.

“Sissy…” Meghan sobbed as a pretty girl who looked like Meghan, but older, led a search party. The next scene was especially hard to watch – a church service dedicated to Meghan. A pretty picture of her smiling at the camera – the same picture Angel first saw at the memorial assembly in school was standing on an easel next to the pulpit. The minister spoke for a while, then invited Meghan’s father to say something but he was crying too hard, so her sister went up instead. Meghan wailed as she watched her sister cry on the pulpit. A loud sob came from Mistress Selina too.

“Enough! I see now that no harm was intended, Meghan, but that I caused so much harm by reacting angrily. I give you my apologies, although I know they don’t mean much to you now.”

“No, Mistress Selina, thank you. I don’t blame you, I know how you must have felt that day,” Meghan was gracious to the end.

“Come, I will undo what was done, late as it is,” said Mistress Selina. “Come, child.”

She took Meghan in her arms and started to chant…

Chapter 25

Angel stepped back and watched as Mistress Selina waved her hands around Meghan, who was shaking so much she nearly fell off the table. Mistress Selina muttered some words under her breath and Meghan quietened down. Mistress Selina continued to mutter under her breath and green smoke started to swirl around Meghan.

“Dude…” Angel whispered, staring at Meghan.

Meghan started to get taller and… bigger.

She started to look… real.

After a few moments, Meghan looked exactly like the girl in the photo that Angel had first seen in school. She looked at herself in a mirror with a big smile on her face. She shook her hands and jumped up and down, happy to be human again.

“I feel exactly like I remember!” Meghan beamed. She grabbed Angel’s hands and they jumped and danced around. A smile played around Mistress Selina’s lips. Then Angel gasped.

“Dude… look…” She pointed at the mirror. Meghan turned to look and gasped out loud!

She was getting older by the minute… now she was a teenager… now she was a young adult… now she was in her 30s… now her 40s… she got wrinkles on her face and her hair got whiter and whiter… Finally Meghan stopped transforming. She was in her 60s… the age she would actually be if she’d stayed human all these years. She stared at herself in the mirror and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m old now. I look like my grandmother,” Meghan said.

“I’m sorry, Meghan, I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” said Angel with feeling.

Meghan looked herself over once more, turning her wrinkled arms in the light.

“Well, at least I’m human again,” she finally said. She turned to Mistress Selina. “Thank you Mistress Selina.”

“Go now, and live your life. Once again, I apologise for having stolen so much of it. Take this to help you live the rest of your days in happiness and peace. Hang it in your room on your bed.” Mistress Selina gave Meghan a small drawstring bag which smelled a bit funny.

“Thank you Mistress Selina!” Meghan said as she took the bag.

“And you, young lady,” Mistress Selina said, turning to Angel, “I commend you again for your bravery and persistence in helping someone you barely even know, even in the face of danger and fear!” Angel stared down at the floor, embarrassed. “Take this as a reminder of your good deeds and may it keep you happy and well in your years to come.”

Mistress Selina also gave Angel a small drawstring bag, but it smelled slightly different from the one she had given Meghan.

“What’s in the bags, Mistress Selina?” Angel couldn’t help but ask.

“Enough questions, young lady!” Mistress Selina said shortly. But… was she actually smiling a little?

“I do have one more question, Mistress Selina, a serious one,” Angel suddenly remembered.

“Oh all right, what is it?” Mistress Selina grumbled.

“Did you… I mean… erm… OK… a boy I just met, my BFF and my favourite teacher all had something weird happen to them and I thought it had something to do with the doll… I mean, the curse that Meghan was under. I thought the person who put the curse… er, you…was cursing them too, for some reason.”

Mistress Selina stared at Angel for a long time, until the younger girl nearly just turned and ran out of the door.

“Sometimes things just happen that we have no control over,” she said quietly.

“What do you think that means, though?!” Angel asked Meghan when they were on the bus on the way home.

“I have NO idea!” Meghan lifted her hands up. She couldn’t stop moving some part of her body, enjoying her long-awaited freedom.

“But… but… so… what happened to Tessa and Mrs. K.??? I mean, I hope Tess is at her grandma’s house… but how about Mrs. K.? And what happened to Whitney and Sam? Why did they get sick???”

There were no answers.

Chapter 26

“I can’t believe I’m back to being human again!!” Meghan squirmed in her seat, shaking her arms and legs and touching her hair. “It feels so freeing!” She blinked her eyes at Angel who laughed, then got serious.

“I’m in big trouble back at home. I bet my mum’s already called for a search party. She was pretty freaked out by the disappearances that were blamed on Mistress Selina,” Angel said. “I don’t blame her. I mean, I guess she’s just worried for me cos she loves me.”

“Yes, mothers do seem to be the bad guys… always scolding us and nagging us. But they’re just trying to protect us from ‘the big bad world’.” Meghan reflected. “I wish I’d listened to my mother that day. I’m sorry, Mummy…” Meghan started to tear up again. Then suddenly she perked up. “But… what an adventure!” Angel saw a flash of the curious young girl she’d met so briefly at Mistress Selina’s house before Meghan had aged to her actual age. She kind of felt sad that she’d ‘lost’ a new friend.

“Gosh, I hope Mistress Selina doesn’t get in trouble. I mean, yeah, she made you disappear, so I guess she could have done it to those others too, but she did listen to us and change you back and… hey… wait a minute!” Angel nearly jumped up, she was so excited. “We can tell people your story and convince them that, if she DID make those other people disappear, she’ll reverse the spells! Then we can tell them about all the good stuff she can do for people that you mentioned… the healing potions and that stuff…”

Meghan grabbed Angel’s hand. “That’s a GREAT idea, Angel! We can use my story to help her! Who do we go to? Who do we tell? Oh, I’m so excited! But first… can we go back to my home to see if anybody is still there? I would love to see my sisters and brothers if I could and tell them what happened.”

Angel squeezed Meghan’s hand. “Sure! Of course! I guess you should tell them your story before the whole world knows and they get a shock.”

They got off the bus at Meghan’s street. Meghan looked around sadly.

“Everything has changed. That used to be my favourite sweet shop where I bought lemon sherberts. There used to be a small park there where we’d play all through summertime. I carved the initials of my first crush on a tree there, but it’s gone now. I wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed human,” she said quietly. “Would I have stayed in the old house? Gotten married? Had children there?” A tear slipped from her eye and Angel patted her hand.

As they got nearer Meghan’s house, Meghan held tighter to Angel’s hand. “I’m not so sure about this anymore, Angel. What if they tell me to go away? They might be frightened… Oh maybe I should just leave. It’s been so long… perhaps they’ve forgotten about me…”

Angel squeezed Meghan’s hand. “Hey, listen… they haven’t forgotten about you. Remember I told you that your sister’s still asking the police about you? She’ll still looking for you!”

They got to the front door of Meghan’s house; a cute little cottage with lots of flower pots everywhere.

“Here I go!” Meghan rang the brass bell hanging at the side of the door.

“Who is it?” An old lady’s voice asked from behind the door.

“That’s sissy!!” Meghan whispered to Angel, excitedly squeezing her hand. “You answer first, I don’t want to scare her!”

“Hi! I’m Angel! I’m selling cookies to raise money for my school!” Angel blurted out the first thing that came to her head.

“Oh… how nice!” the voice said, and the door opened. Angel saw a sweet little old lady smiling at her. “I love chocolate chip – do you have any chocolate chi …” The little old lady looked up at Meghan. “Who?” Her jaw dropped. “Meghan?!?!?!?”

Chapter 27

“Sissy!!! Yes, it’s me!” Meghan cried and hugged her sister. Both of them were crying. Even Angel got a tear in her eye, which she quickly wiped away.

“What… where… how… why…?” Meghan’s sister turned from Meghan to Angel, looking for answers. Confused, she blurted out, “My, you’re pretty. Are you my niece?”

“What? No! I’m, erm…” Angel turned to Meghan to fill the story in for her sister.

“Sissy… I think you’d better sit down so I can tell you the whole story.”

Meghan didn’t let go of her sister. Meghan and Angel spent a whole hour telling Meghan’s sister the story. Her eyes grew wider and wider and she kept grabbing Meghan’s hand.

“Oh my! You’ve been… a doll for all these years?? Meghan’s sister stared at her.

“Yes,” said Meghan. “I know it’s hard to believe, but if not for this brave girl,” Meghan patted Angel’s hand, “I would still be a doll in an antique shop – alone, scared and… eventually… forgotten.”

“No, Meghan, I wouldn’t forget you! I kept looking for you!” Meghan’s sister turned to Angel. “Thank you, dear girl, you really saved the day!”

“Awww… like I told Meghan, I very nearly chucked her out of the window, I was so creeped out!” Angel was embarrassed again.

“We should celebrate your homecoming, Meghan! Throw a big party! Tell the whole town who were so kind to help look for you!” Meghan’s sister was excited.

“Oh goodness, no need to make a thing of it!” It was Meghan’s turn to blush.

“Yes! We HAVE to!” Angel jumped up. “So many people are still thinking of you, Meghan. Let’s do it! Also, this is a good way to help Mistress Selina!”

Angel sighed, “Well, I guess I’d better get home and face Mum. I’m in a deep bucket of trouble as it is. If I don’t get home before evening I’ll never be allowed out again for the rest of my life!”

Angel got home and opened the front door, and, as expected, got a huge blast from her mum straight away.

“Young lady, you are in the biggest trouble of your life!”

“Hi, mum… sorry mum… I know I’m in deep doodoo…”

“You bet you are! You snuck our when I specifically told you to stay in! You stayed out all day without even letting me know you’re safe! Do you know how worried I was? I called the police! I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

“I know, I’m sorry, mum, I’ll never do it again. It’s just cos… Meghan… Mistress Selina…” Angel tried to explain.

“Exactly! You’ll never do it again because you’re never going out of this house again! You’re grounded for the rest of your life, Missy! Go to your room right now!”

It was no use. She couldn’t talk to her Mum. Angel went to her room. She was so tired, she fell asleep. A few hours later, she woke up, thirsty.

“Gosh, I wonder if mum’s still mad at me? I really need to get a drink.”

Angel decided to try going downstairs, but when she got to the top of the stairs, she heard voices downstairs.

“Ma’am, you sent us a missing person’s report?” Angel heard a man’s voice ask. The police! Her mum had really called the police!

“Yes, my daughter went missing for a couple of hours and I was very worried, what with the disappearances and all, but she’s back now, thank goodness. She’d just snuck out and gone ‘adventuring’ without telling me. It’s weird, it’s not like her at all. She’s normally very responsible… But I called you to cancel the report, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did ma’am, thank you. That’s good news that she’s back now, we’ll cancel the report. But we’re also here because you mentioned that your daughter mentioned a ‘Mistress Selina’? Do you know she’s actually a person of interest in our ongoing disappearance cases?” the officer told her Mum.

Mistress Selina!!! Angel clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d said the name to her Mum! She had to act, and act fast, to clear Mistress Selina’s name.

Chapter 28

Angel ran down the stairs.

“Hi! Oh! Hi! Officer! Sorry to interrupt, sorry I was listening, but I need to talk to you about… about…” She saw her mum’s thunderous face and knew she was still in trouble, but she had to talk to the officer. “Mistress Selina,” she blurted out.

“What! How do you know anything about that?” Then Angel’s mum realised something. “Wait, Angel, is that where you’ve been going these past few days? When you’ve said you’ve been going to Mrs. Karmelita’s? Angel, do you know what you’ve been getting yourself into?!!”

Ma’am,” the officer put his hand up. “Wait. Please calm down. Can I talk to your daughter please? If she has any information about this individual, we need to find out.”

“Ok, ok, but I have to be here too,” Angel’s mum stood firm.

“Yes, ma’am, we need a parent to be present when we’re talking to minors. Ok. Angel, is it? I’m Officer Gomez. Tell me everything you know about Mistress Selina.”

But Angel was worried about her mother, who already looked wide-eyed with fear.

“You’d better sit down, Mum, it’s a long and weird story. Remember that doll that Aunt Sylvia got me for my birthday?” Angel was relieved that the whole story was finally going to come out.

“Yes… that thing was bad for you. You were freaking out so much about it. I’m going to have another serious talk with your Aunt Sylvia when she gets back from her trip. No more freaky stuff for you!” Angel’s mum was getting riled up again and Angel quickly cut her off.

“Listen, mum, please listen,” Angel begged. “Well, yeah, at first I was totally freaked out by it… it seemed alive! I couldn’t sleep or eat or focus on anything. Then weird stuff started happening. Tessa vanished…”

“What?! Tessa vanished?? Is she ok?” Angel’s mum started freaking out again.

“Mum, please let me finish!” Angel said, a little too loudly. But her mum didn’t look mad anymore, just worried. “Anyway, yeah… I thought the DOLL made her vanish because she’d said bad stuff about it. Turns out she just went to help out her sick grandma. But Sam and Whitney got sick… and Mrs. K. disappeared… she’s still not back… well, I’m not sure, but I think she would have tried to get a hold of me if she’d come back because… oh man, I’m getting the story all mixed up.” Angel stopped, flustered.

“It’s ok, just carry on, Angel,” Officer Gomez prompted her.

“Yeah… anyways, I thought the doll was making bad stuff happen. All that was happening and I was getting into accidents and stuff – though now that I think about it, that was probably cos I wasn’t getting enough sleep and I was totally distracted by the doll.” Angel was now talking more to herself than Officer Gomez.

“And…?” Officer Gomez prompted.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry. So finally one day at assembly we had a memorial service for Meghan – a girl who had disappeared 60 years ago with no trace. Search parties, some even with those sniffer dogs, checked everywhere but they couldn’t find her.” Angel continued, “When I saw the picture of Meghan that they put up, I freaked! It looked just like my doll!!”

“Angel, what are you saying?” Her Mum had stopped being angry and was staring at her.

“The doll was Meghan!” Angel blurted out.

“Now, hold on, wait a minute… are you telling me that this little girl who had disappeared 60 years ago had been turned into a… doll??!!” Officer Gomez stared at Angel.

“Ye-es…” Angel trailed off, not liking all the staring at her.

“Angel, are you telling the truth?” her Mum asked.

“Mum! I don’t lie… I mean… erm… well I’m not lying about this!” Angel spluttered.

“Ok, let me go talk to Meghan,” the officer got up. “Can I get her address?”

“I’ll take you there!” Angel jumped up.

“You’re grounded, remember, Angel?” her Mum interjected.

“Aw Mum!” But Angel knew she was. And so she had to go home with her Mum.

But once she was back in her bedroom, she spent the rest of the night wondering if Meghan would be able to convince the officer that Mistress Selina was going to reverse whatever bad spells she’d done. The only way Angel could possibly help was if she could find some way to find out what was going on…

Chapter 29

“Argh! I can’t STAND it!! Why hasn’t Officer Gomez called? I should have told him to call me straight after he’d talked to Meghan! I’m dying here!!” Angel was bursting at the seams for some news.

“Be that as it may, it’s bedtime, young lady,” Angel’s Mum said firmly. “You’ve had waaaaay too much stimulation for the past few days… maybe that’s why you’ve completely forgotten that I care about you and your safety.”

“OK, OK, mum, I’ll try.” Angel didn’t want to get her Mum mad again. “But I just woke up and… I’m too…” Angel saw her Mum’s face go dark. “OK, OK, I’m off to bed!”

But she couldn’t sleep for hours and hours. The next morning was no better. Angel just couldn’t stop pacing around.

“Angel, stop it. You’re giving me a headache! Come eat your breakfast.” Her mother put a plate of pancakes on the table.

“Sorry, Mum, I just …” The doorbell rang and Angel ran for the door. “I’ll get it!”

“Meghan!” Angel practically screamed. “Thank goodness you’re here! Did Officer Gomez talk to you? Did you tell him everything? Is Mistress Selina still in trouble?”

Meghan hugged Angel. “Yes, I spoke to Officer Gomez and told him everything. He’s agreed to let me speak to Mistress Selina first to try to convince her to change anyone she’s cursed back to their original human selves. If I can also convince her to only use her magic for good from now on, then the police will leave her alone.”

“Oh good!!” Angel relaxed, then sprang up again. “Wait… I just had a thought. How about the other people who were affected by the curse… like Sam and Whitney… and Mrs. K.! She’s vanished without a trace! Did the curse spread to them too? Will she help them?”

“Well, we don’t really know if Sam and Whitney were affected by the curse… people get sick all the time,” Meghan thought out loud. “But Jilly vanishing just when we were about to start looking for Mistress Selina… that’s strange. I’ll ask Mistress Selina about it.”

“We’ll ask… OK, let’s go!”

Angel went to grab her backpack but her mum stopped her.

“And where are you going, young lady??”

Angel didn’t like the sound of her Mum’s voice.

“I’m… we’re going to talk to Mistress Selina about lifting the curses.”

“And did you forget again that you’re grounded until further notice?” Angel’s Mum reminded her.

Angel’s shoulders slumped and she whined “Awwww, Mum, PLEASE let me go, just this once, please, please, please, please!!””

“No, Angel. Grounded is grounded. You weren’t responsible the other day when you scared me half to death because you didn’t call me.” Her Mum was firm. “And now things are dangerous. What if Mistress Selina gets angry and turns YOU into a doll? Then what??” Angel gulped.

“It’s OK, Angel,” Meghan reassured her. “I’ll go and talk to Mistress Selina and come straight back here, OK?”

“OK, I guess…” Angel wasn’t happy but knew she couldn’t argue with her Mum. Angel spent the rest of the day pacing and tapping nervously. “Where IS she?! Where IS she?! Did she convince Mistress Selina??? What’s going ON?!”

The doorbell rang and Angel sprinted to the door and pulled it open for Meghan. “Did you do it? Did you do it?”

Meghan didn’t answer, but only held out a crystal ball. “Mistress Selina wants to talk to you.”

Angel stared. “Through that?! Er… OK?”

Meghan put the crystal ball down and muttered, “Mistress Selina, Angel is here.”

They stared as green smoke filled the ball and started swirling around the room. Then, Mistress Selina’s face appeared in the ball. Angel jumped and gave a little scream.

“Greetings, Angel, brave one that you are,” Mistress Selina’s old crackly voice floated out of the ball. “I suppose you’re wondering what I have to say…”

Chapter 30

“M-m-mistress Selina!” Angel stuttered, feeling like she was in a movie. “A-are you OK? Did you get into trouble? We’re trying to figure it all out with the authorities…”

“Yes, yes, my child,” Mistress Selina’s voice was calm. “Meghan has told me everything you both are doing to help me and I am very grateful. I now realise the error of my actions over the years and I have agreed to reverse any damage that I can. From now on, I will only use my powers for good to help those who need me.Now, Meghan mentioned that you had a few questions for me?”

“Yes, Mistress Selina, I was just wondering… after you curse someone, can the curse also affect people who helped the cursed person? Because me and a couple of my friends had bad luck after I got Meghan. Two got sick, two went missing… but my BFF Tessa came back… that was a false alarm because her grandma was sick… Then again, she’s kind of vanished again so I hope she’s gone to visit her grandma again…” Angel realised she was rambling and stopped.

Mistress Selina didn’t say anything for a long time and Angel started to worry that she’d made her mad. Finally she nodded slowly.

“Yes, it could happen that the curse could reach out beyond the originally cursed and affect those that come into proximity. You were very blessed to not have been affected by it. I do apologise for the inconvenience caused and that’s why I hope to set things right.”

But how could Mistress Selina set things right? She didn’t say. The ball grew dim, and went dark.

The next two weeks were very weird for Angel. She had been caught up in the whole doll thing and now things were supposed to go back to normal. Being grounded didn’t help her restlessness. Her mind kept drifting to what had happened over the last month.

One night her Mum rushed into her room and shook her awake.

“What’s up Mum? I was sleeping!” Angel was very grouchy when she got woken up.

“I heard you scream ‘Get away from me you crazy crocodile!’ and you sounded so panicked I thought I’d better wake you up!” Her Mum hugged her. “I hope you start forgetting about whatever’s happened this past month soon, Angel, you’re really not having a good time of it.”

“I don’t think I”ll EVER forget, Mum! And I don’t think I WANT to forget! It’s been the most amazing month of my life! Scary, yeah, but amazing!” Then Angel’s eyes lit up. “I know! I’ll write a story about it!”

“That’s a GREAT idea, Angel! That will be a great way to get all the thoughts and feelings out. I’ll help you to get it published!” Angel hadn’t seen her Mum so excited about something in a long time and felt a whole lot better.

About a month later, the authorities finally went to all of the people that Mistress Selina had remembered cursing. Meghan stayed with her sister in their old house and was helping Mistress Selina by talking to the families of those who had been affected by her actions’. She was so happy to reconnect with her old friends, but she missed Jilly.

“I really wish I knew where she’d vanished to,” Meghan told Angel sadly one day when she was at Angel’s house, “Mistress Selina hasn’t been able to help with that.”

Angel was still grounded except for school and Meghan came to fill her in on what was going on when she could.

Angel was super busy with her book, but she was really worried about Tessa. Where had she got to? She hadn’t been answering her phone again, and Angel had no idea what was going on. She was all ready to talk to Mistress Selina again.

One day before the big celebration that the town was going to hold to celebrate Meghan and all the other cursed people’s return, Angel’s doorbell rang.

“Meghan! What are you going to…” Angel stopped. It wasn’t Meghan… it was Tessa!!

“TESSA GIRRRRRRRL!!!! Angel grabbed her friend and hugged her tight. “Where have you been?!?! You missed the whole adventure! Were you at your grandmother’s? Is she OK?”

Tessa hugged Angel back. “I missed you too, girl. Well, it’s weird. I WAS at my grandma’s… after I last talked to you she got bad again. But then… I can’t remember after that at all! I just woke up one morning and I was in my bed again. My Mum and everyone was being normal… I don’t know WHAT happened!!”

Angel and Tessa never figured out what had happened to Tessa. They asked Mistress Selina, but even she had no idea.

Eventually, things settled back to normal, but every once in a while, Tessa would get a weird look in her eyes and mutter, “Pigeons …”

The End

The post Is She For Real? first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Once upon a time a bonnie Prince fell in love with a lassie who was nobly born, but was not his equal in rank. The king was sorely vexed, because his son looked with favour on this maiden, and his majesty determined to part the lovers. He sent the high chancellor of the court to an old witch for advice. After thinking the matter over for nine days, the old woman muttered the following answer:

“The lassie will I charm away
’Till courtesy doth win the day.”

“I’m not quite sure what the old hag means,” said the king. “But if she’ll get this maiden out of the Prince’s sight, I can arrange for his marriage with some one of his own rank.”

In a few days the lassie disappeared, and the Prince could find no trace of her. He was very sad, indeed, and declared if he could not marry his own true love he would remain single all his life.

It happened one fine day near the end of October that the young Prince and a party of nobles went hunting. The hounds were soon on the track of a fine deer, which was so wily and fleet of foot that the nobles, one by one, lost track of the quarry, and dropped out of the chase. The young Prince, who was a famous rider, continued the hunt alone. Miles and miles over the low hills he galloped until at last in the depths of a wooded glen the exhausted deer was brought to bay by the hounds, and dispatched by the Prince.

Not until after the prize was won did the royal hunter realize how dusky it was in the glen, and how threatening the evening sky looked. He felt sure he was too far from the palace to retrace his journey; besides, he had lost all trace of direction. He threw the quarry over his steed’s back, whistled to his hounds, and rode slowly down the wooded valley, wondering where he could lodge for the night.

“Little sign of hospitality in this lonely place,” he mused. “Perhaps I’d better make the best of it, and find shelter in one of the rocky hollows.”

On he rode in the gathering darkness. A turn in the valley brought him to a stretch of moorland, and a little distance away he saw the dark outline of an old, deserted hunting hall.

“A cheerless looking inn,” thought the Prince. “No doubt one will have to play host as well as guest here. However, I have my trusty hounds and noble steed for company, and the quarry will furnish a good meal for all of us.”

He leaped from his horse and walked up to the old ruin. With very little effort he broke open the door. The creaking of its rusty hinges made strange echoings throughout the hall. The Prince led his horse into one of the small rooms, then with his hounds he went into the large dining hall, where he lit a fire on the great hearth, and proceeded to cook some venison for supper.

While he was waiting for the meat on the spit to roast, he listened to the rising wind, which moaned about the gloomy old ruin, and rattled the doors and windows unceasingly. The good steed, in the adjoining room, pawed the floor restlessly, and every few moments the hounds stretched their heads straight up into the air, and whined in a most uncanny way.

As he mused before the fire, the Prince thought, “This is All Hallowe’en, the night when ghosts and witches hold their revels. Nevertheless, I’d rather be in this deserted hall than on the storm-swept moorland.”

He took the roasted meat from the fire, and prepared to eat his supper. Suddenly a fierce blast of wind burst open a large door at the far end of the hall, and into the room stalked a tall, ghostly woman. Her lank figure was clothed in grey garments, which trailed for yards on the floor. Her long, grey hair hung loose down her back. By the light of the flickering fire the Prince could see her hollow eyes and wan features. He was a brave man, but this ghostly creature filled him with dread and horror. The hounds dropped their bones of venison, and crept close to their master, who was unable to utter a word.

Slowly down the hall the grey ghost glided to the Prince, and pointing a long, bony finger at him, she asked in a hollow voice, “Art thou a courteous knight?”

In a trembling voice the Prince answered, “I will serve thee. What dost thou wish?”

“Go ye to the moorland, and pluck enough heather to make a bed in the turret-room for me,” said the phantom-like figure.

It was a strange request to make, but the Prince was relieved to have any excuse to get out of her sight. He sprang quickly to his feet, and hurried out to face the stormy night in search of heather. He plucked as much as he could carry in his plaid, and returned to the hall where the ghostly visitor was waiting for him. She led the way down the room, and up a half-ruined staircase to the turret-room. Here the Prince spread a heather bed for her, and covered it with his plaid. When it was finished she pointed to the door, and dismissed him.

“May you sleep well,” said the Prince courteously. Then, cold and weary, he descended to the hall, and lay down to sleep in front of the dying embers of the fire.

When he awakened the bright sun was shining in the windows.

The Prince lost no time in making ready to depart, for he remembered quite well the ghostly visitor of the past night.

“No doubt she departed before the crowing of the cock,” he said. “I wonder if she left my bonnie plaid in the turret room. The autumn air is keen and biting. I’ll go and see.”

He ran quickly up the ruined staircase. To his surprise when he reached the top, the door of the chamber opened, and there before him stood his lost sweetheart.

“How camest thou here?” gasped the Prince. “And where is the grey ghost.”

“Last night I was the grey ghost,” she said.

“And thou wilt change thy form again to-night?” he asked in horror.

“Never again,” said the maiden. “In order to part us a wicked witch threw a spell over me—a spell which changed me into the awful shape thou sawest last night. But thou hast broken her wicked charm.”

“Tell me how,” said the Prince, whose face was beaming with happiness.

“The witch’s charm could not be broken until some knight should serve me, even though my form was horrible. By thy courtesy thou hast broken the spell,” said the maiden.

So the Prince and his true love rode away, and were happily married, and when the king heard of his son’s adventure in the hunting hall he said, “Now I know what that old witch meant by her prophecy.”

Fairy tale written by Eleanor L. Skinner

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Kindness, Good Manners

1. The word courteous means a cross between kindness and good manners. How do you think the Prince was courteous in this story?

2. Why do you think it might be important to show courtesy towards others?

The post The Courteous Prince first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

On Halloween I took a sheet

And cut two holes for eyes.

Because that night I’d trick-or-treat

And earn my candy prize.

I put it on and made my way

From door to door to door.

I won a lot of treats that day,

And ev’ry house brought more.

But then I turned a corner there

And what, then, did I see

Before me floating in the air?

A little ghost like me!

A tiny ghost, so very small.

I asked this little one:

“Is this a trick? Who’s doing that?”

But answer there came none.

I turned and tried to walk away

But looked around to see

The tiny flying ghostly thing

Was sticking close to me.

All night I went and gathered sweets,

I walked both there and here,

But ev’rywhere I went my ghost

Stayed very, very near.

And even after I went home

To count what I’d received,

The ghost refused to go away!

Twas not to be believed!

My bigger brother, name of Tom,

Was clever and well-read,

And when I asked him what was up

He thought a bit, then said:

“It’s obvious, to me at least,

What’s going on here, Bro:

The little ghost thinks you’re his dad

And that’s why he won’t go.”

We tried to tell the ghost the truth,

That we were not the same,

But he just hovered in the air,

Obedient and tame.

No matter what we said or did,

The ghost would not disperse.

And so, I knew he’d have to stay

For better or for worse.

The ghost went with me everywhere,

To school, to church, at play.

I found that I was liking him

A little more each day.

We soon became the best of friends

And never were apart.

Until there came that tragic day

That nearly broke my heart.

For Ghost and I were walking home

And then we chanced to meet

A stranger; twas about my size

And covered in a sheet!

No, not a sheet. It was a ghost!

A real ghost, oh no!

It saw my friend and said, “Oh, dear!

Wherever did you go?

You disappeared on Halloween

And I’ve been worried sick.

But now I’ve found you, so come on,

We’d better go home, quick.”

And now the truth of what occurred

Was very plain to see:

This little ghost thought I was mom

And so he followed me!

But now his real mom had come

To take her son away.

Mom wished me well, then off they went

“Goodbye,” I could not say…

But that was many years ago.

I’m all grown up today.

And I’ve not seen my little ghost

Since Mom took him away.

And yet, each year, on Halloween,

In the chill October air,

I feel I’m being followed, but

I look…and nothing’s there.

Halloween poem for kids written and illustrated by Templeton Moss

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Friendship, Conversation

1. Why do you think the little boy in this poem, now all grown up, feels like the little ghost is following him every Halloween?

The post Me and My Ghost first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

I decorate with cobwebs, sweep the spiders under the rug, Yet no one ever offers me a kind word or a hug.

I don’t know what the reason is. I don’t know what could cause it, ‘Cause I always, yes I always keep my skeletons in the closet.

Sure, I may look scary but if someone really knew me, they wouldn’t be afraid ’cause they could see right through me.

Copyright Arden Davidson, 2019

POEM FOR KIDS WRITTEN BY ARDEN DAVIDSON

Illustration by Kseniya Shagieva

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE POEM ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Empathy

1. The little ghost in this Halloween poem thinks they’re making their house nice for visitors when they decorate with cobwebs. Do you think the little ghost is making their house nice? Why do you think visitors are still scared of the little ghost ?

2. This poem is about how people can see things differently. Can you think of some other times when people see the same thing differently? Is one perspective more “right” than the other?

WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ MORE POEMS FROM THE SAME AUTHOR?

What’s Weird About A Mirror: 101 Curious Poems

written by Arden Davidson and published by Storyberries.

It’s a long-awaited, hilarious collection of children’s poems by poet Arden Davidson, and includes topics ranging from a snoring grandma to a six-footed camel to reflections on the weirdness of mirrors.

The post The Ghost With The Most first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Stave I – Marley’s Ghost

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?

Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the point I started from.

There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul’s Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son’s weak mind.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley’s name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn’t know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often “came down” handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o’clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, “No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!”

But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call “nuts” to Scrooge.

Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already—it had not been light all day—and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.

The door of Scrooge’s counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk’s fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn’t replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

“A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”

“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”

“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.”

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.”

“Don’t be cross, uncle!” said the nephew.

“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ’em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!”

“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.

“Nephew!” returned the uncle sternly, “keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”

“Keep it!” repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you don’t keep it.”

“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Scrooge. “Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!”

“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,” returned the nephew. “Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”

The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

“Let me hear another sound from you,” said Scrooge, “and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You’re quite a powerful speaker, sir,” he added, turning to his nephew. “I wonder you don’t go into Parliament.”

“Don’t be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.”

Scrooge said that he would see him—yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.

“But why?” cried Scrooge’s nephew. “Why?”

“Why did you get married?” said Scrooge.

“Because I fell in love.”

“Because you fell in love!” growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. “Good afternoon!”

“Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?”

“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.

“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?”

“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.

“I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!”

“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.

“And A Happy New Year!”

“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.

His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.

“There’s another fellow,” muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: “my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry Christmas. I’ll retire to Bedlam.”

This lunatic, in letting Scrooge’s nephew out, had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge’s office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.

“Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe,” said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list.

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?”

“Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,” Scrooge replied. “He died seven years ago, this very night.”

“We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner,” said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.

It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous word “liberality,” Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back.

“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir.”

“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.

“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”

“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”

“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?” said Scrooge.

“Both very busy, sir.”

“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,” returned the gentleman, “a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?”

“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.

“You wish to be anonymous?”

“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.”

“Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”

“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides—excuse me—I don’t know that.”

“But you might know it,” observed the gentleman.

“It’s not my business,” Scrooge returned. “It’s enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!”

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there.

The cold became intense. In the main street, at the corner of the court, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shops where holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers’ and grocers’ trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor’s household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow’s pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.

Foggier yet, and colder. Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit’s nose with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose. The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge’s keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol: but at the first sound of

“God bless you, merry gentleman! May nothing you dismay!”

Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog and even more congenial frost.

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

“You’ll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?” said Scrooge.

“If quite convenient, sir.”

“It’s not convenient,” said Scrooge, “and it’s not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you’d think yourself ill-used, I’ll be bound?”

The clerk smiled faintly.

“And yet,” said Scrooge, “you don’t think me ill-used, when I pay a day’s wages for no work.”

The clerk observed that it was only once a year.

“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. “But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning.”

The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman’s-buff.

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker’s-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.

Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including—which is a bold word—the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven years’ dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change—not a knocker, but Marley’s face.

It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.

As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.

To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.

He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley’s pigtail sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang.

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant’s cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.

You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn’t have lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge’s dip.
Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.

Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.

It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh’s daughters; Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet’s rod, and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank at first, with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, there would have been a copy of old Marley’s head on every one.

“Humbug!” said Scrooge; and walked across the room.

After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant’s cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

“It’s humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won’t believe it.”

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again.

The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.
Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.

“How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. “What do you want with me?”

“Much!”—Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.

“Who are you?”

“Ask me who I was.”

“Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.” He was going to say “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate.

“In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.”

“Can you—can you sit down?” asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.

“I can.”

“Do it, then.”

Scrooge asked the question, because he didn’t know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.

“You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.

“I don’t,” said Scrooge.

“What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”

“I don’t know,” said Scrooge.

“Why do you doubt your senses?”

“Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”

Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.

To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre’s being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.

“You see this toothpick?” said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision’s stony gaze from himself.

“I do,” replied the Ghost.

“You are not looking at it,” said Scrooge.

“But I see it,” said the Ghost, “notwithstanding.”

“Well!” returned Scrooge, “I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you! humbug!”

At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.

“Mercy!” he said. “Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?”

“Man of the worldly mind!” replied the Ghost, “do you believe in me or not?”

“I do,” said Scrooge. “I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?”

“It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned, “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world—oh, woe is me!—and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!”

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.

“You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell me why?”

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?”

Scrooge trembled more and more.

“Or would you know,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!”

Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing.

“Jacob,” he said, imploringly. “Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!”

“I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!”

It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.

“You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,” Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.

“Slow!” the Ghost repeated.

“Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And travelling all the time!”

“The whole time,” said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.”

“You travel fast?” said Scrooge.

“On the wings of the wind,” replied the Ghost.

“You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,” said Scrooge.

The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.

“Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!”

“But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.

“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

It held up its chain at arm’s length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.

“At this time of the rolling year,” the spectre said, “I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!”

Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.

“Hear me!” cried the Ghost. “My time is nearly gone.”

“I will,” said Scrooge. “But don’t be hard upon me! Don’t be flowery, Jacob! Pray!”

“How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.”

It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

“That is no light part of my penance,” pursued the Ghost. “I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.”

“You were always a good friend to me,” said Scrooge. “Thank’ee!”

“You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits.”

Scrooge’s countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost’s had done.

“Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?” he demanded, in a faltering voice.

“It is.”

“I—I think I’d rather not,” said Scrooge.

“Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One.”

“Couldn’t I take ’em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?” hinted Scrooge.

“Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”

When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head, as before. Scrooge knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.

It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Marley’s Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped.

Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.

Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.
The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.

Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.

Stave II – The First of the Three Spirits

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour.
To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have got into the works. Twelve!

He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve: and stopped.

“Why, it isn’t possible,” said Scrooge, “that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn’t possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!”

The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything; and could see very little then. All he could make out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This was a great relief, because “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’ security if there were no days to count by.

Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not to think, the more he thought.

Marley’s Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, “Was it a dream or not?”

Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.

“Ding, dong!”

“Half-past!” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“The hour itself,” said Scrooge, triumphantly, “and nothing else!”

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“I am!”

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

“Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

“No. Your past.”

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost, “would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!”

Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge of having wilfully “bonneted” the Spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

“Your welfare!” said the Ghost.

Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:

“Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

“Rise! and walk with me!”

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman’s hand, was not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards the window, clasped his robe in supplication.

“I am a mortal,” Scrooge remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

“Bear but a touch of my hand there,” said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!”

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

“Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

“Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.

“You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit.

“Remember it!” cried Scrooge with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.”

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.”

They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it!

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several homes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done to him?

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.

They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were over-run with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat.

They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be.

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.

“Why, it’s Ali Baba!” Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. “It’s dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson; there they go! And what’s his name, who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don’t you see him! And the Sultan’s Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is upon his head! Serve him right. I’m glad of it. What business had he to be married to the Princess!”

To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.

“There’s the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “Green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island. ‘Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe?’ The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn’t. It was the Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!”

Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character, he said, in pity for his former self, “Poor boy!” and cried again.

“I wish,” Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: “but it’s too late now.”

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” said Scrooge. “Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something: that’s all.”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

Scrooge’s former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct; that everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.
He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door.

It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting in, and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed him as her

“Dear, dear brother.”

“I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. “To bring you home, home, home!”

“Home, little Fan?” returned the boy.

“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “Home, for good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home’s like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you’re to be a man!” said the child, opening her eyes, “and are never to come back here; but first, we’re to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world.”

“You are quite a woman, little Fan!” exclaimed the boy.

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.

A terrible voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Scrooge’s box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. He then conveyed him and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best-parlour that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold. Here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people: at the same time, sending out a meagre servant to offer a glass of “something” to the postboy, who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not. Master Scrooge’s trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.

“Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the Ghost. “But she had a large heart!”

“So she had,” cried Scrooge. “You’re right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“She died a woman,” said the Ghost, “and had, as I think, children.”

“One child,” Scrooge returned.

“True,” said the Ghost. “Your nephew!”

Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, “Yes.”

Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

“Know it!” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here!”

They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement:

“Why, it’s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it’s Fezziwig alive again!”

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

“Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”

Scrooge’s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-’prentice.

“Dick Wilkins, to be sure!” said Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!”

“Yo ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say Jack Robinson!”

You wouldn’t believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had ’em up in their places—four, five, six—barred ’em and pinned ’em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.

“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. “Clear away, my lads, and let’s have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!”

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn’t have cleared away, or couldn’t have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter’s night.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother’s particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them! When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind! The sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told it him!) struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

But if they had been twice as many—ah, four times—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that’s not high praise, tell me higher, and I’ll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig’s calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn’t have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two ’prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Small!” echoed Scrooge.

The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,

“Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?”

“It isn’t that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn’t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ’em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.

“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.

“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.

“No,” said Scrooge, “No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all.”

His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.

“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”

This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.

He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“It matters little,” she said, softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

“What Idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.

“A golden one.”

“This is the even-handed dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!”

“You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?”

“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.”

She shook her head.

“Am I?”

“Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man.”

“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.

“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you.”

“Have I ever sought release?”

“In words. No. Never.”

“In what, then?”

“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!”

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

“I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered, “Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were.”

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

“You may—the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”

She left him, and they parted.

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”

“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”

But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.

They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn’t for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn’t have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn’t have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.

But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll’s frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief of finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.

And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.

“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess!”

“How can I? Tut, don’t I know?” she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Scrooge.”

“Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”

“I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost.

“That they are what they are, do not blame me!”

“Remove me!” Scrooge exclaimed, “I cannot bear it!”

He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.

The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light: which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.

He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.

Stave III – The Second of the Three Spirits

Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to him through Jacob Marley’s intervention. But finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own hands; and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and made nervous.

Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on being acquainted with a move or two, and being usually equal to the time-of-day, express the wide range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing for Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don’t mind calling on you to believe that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think—as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too—at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.

The moment Scrooge’s hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge’s time, or Marley’s, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.

In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.

“Come in!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in! and know me better, man!”

Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit’s eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me!”

Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Never,” Scrooge made answer to it.

“Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?” pursued the Phantom.

“I don’t think I have,” said Scrooge. “I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?”

“More than eighteen hundred,” said the Ghost.

“A tremendous family to provide for!” muttered Scrooge.

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge submissively, “conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.”

“Touch my robe!”

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts’ content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers’ shops were still half open, and the fruiterers’ were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers’ benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people’s mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers’! oh, the Grocers’! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

“Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge.

“There is. My own.”

“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge.

“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”

“Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge.

“Because it needs it most.”

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, after a moment’s thought, “I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these people’s opportunities of innocent enjoyment.”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all,” said Scrooge. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?” said Scrooge. “And it comes to the same thing.”

“I seek!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family,” said Scrooge.

“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

Scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker’s), that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge’s clerk’s; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit’s dwelling with the sprinkling of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen “Bob” a-week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob’s private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker’s they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour?”

“Here’s Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

“Here’s Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! There’s such a goose, Martha!”

“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

“We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and had to clear away this morning, mother!”

“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!”

“No, no! There’s father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

“Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim’s blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant.

“Not coming upon Christmas Day!”

Martha didn’t like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart’s content.

“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs—as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose—a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family re-echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father’s side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, “tell me if Tiny Tim will live.”

“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Ghost, “in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.”

“No, no,” said Scrooge. “Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared.”

“If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race,” returned the Ghost, “will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.

“Man,” said the Ghost, “if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!”

Scrooge bent before the Ghost’s rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.

“Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob; “I’ll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”

“The Founder of the Feast indeed!” cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. “I wish I had him here. I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he’d have a good appetite for it.”

“My dear,” said Bob, “the children! Christmas Day.”

“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,” said she, “on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!”

“My dear,” was Bob’s mild answer, “Christmas Day.”

“I’ll drink his health for your sake and the Day’s,” said Mrs. Cratchit, “not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He’ll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!”

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn’t care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter’s being a man of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner’s, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Peter;” at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn’t have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by-and-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker’s. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; and as Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness. There all the children of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbour’s house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them enter—artful witches, well they knew it—in a glow!

But, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted! How it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capacious palm, and floated on, outpouring, with a generous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach! The very lamplighter, who ran on before, dotting the dusky street with specks of light, and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed, though little kenned the lamplighter that he had any company but Christmas!

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.

“What place is this?” asked Scrooge.

“A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,” returned the Spirit. “But they know me. See!”

A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced towards it. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man and woman, with their children and their children’s children, and another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song—it had been a very old song when he was a boy—and from time to time they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again.

The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his robe, and passing on above the moor, sped—whither? Not to sea? To sea. To Scrooge’s horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it rolled and roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.

Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps of sea-weed clung to its base, and storm-birds—born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of the water—rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed.

But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire, that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other Merry Christmas in their can of grog; and one of them: the elder, too, with his face all damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might be: struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in itself.

Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea—on, on—until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew’s and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!

“Ha, ha!” laughed Scrooge’s nephew. “Ha, ha, ha!”

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge’s nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I’ll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Scrooge’s nephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge’s niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.

“Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!” cried Scrooge’s nephew. “He believed it too!”

“More shame for him, Fred!” said Scrooge’s niece, indignantly. Bless those women; they never do anything by halves. They are always in earnest.

She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be kissed—as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature’s head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.

“He’s a comical old fellow,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “that’s the truth: and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him.”

“I’m sure he is very rich, Fred,” hinted Scrooge’s niece. “At least you always tell me so.”

“What of that, my dear!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “His wealth is of no use to him. He don’t do any good with it. He don’t make himself comfortable with it. He hasn’t the satisfaction of thinking—ha, ha, ha!—that he is ever going to benefit US with it.”

“I have no patience with him,” observed Scrooge’s niece. Scrooge’s niece’s sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.

“Oh, I have!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “I am sorry for him; I couldn’t be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won’t come and dine with us. What’s the consequence? He don’t lose much of a dinner.”

“Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner,” interrupted Scrooge’s niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamplight.

“Well! I’m very glad to hear it,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “because I haven’t great faith in these young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper?”

Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge’s niece’s sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge’s niece’s sister—the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the roses—blushed.

“Do go on, Fred,” said Scrooge’s niece, clapping her hands. “He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!”

Scrooge’s nephew revelled in another laugh, and as it was impossible to keep the infection off; though the plump sister tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar; his example was unanimously followed.

“I was only going to say,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can’t help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me going there, in good temper, year after year, and saying Uncle Scrooge, how are you? If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, that’s something; and I think I shook him yesterday.”

It was their turn to laugh now at the notion of his shaking Scrooge. But being thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle joyously.

After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you: especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. Scrooge’s niece played well upon the harp; and played among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things that Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton’s spade that buried Jacob Marley.
But they didn’t devote the whole evening to music. After a while they played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself. Stop! There was first a game at blind-man’s buff. Of course there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and Scrooge’s nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping against the piano, smothering himself among the curtains, wherever she went, there went he! He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn’t catch anybody else. If you had fallen up against him (as some of them did), on purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavouring to seize you, which would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried out that it wasn’t fair; and it really was not. But when at last, he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there was no escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretending not to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck; was vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it, when, another blind-man being in office, they were so very confidential together, behind the curtains.

Scrooge’s niece was not one of the blind-man’s buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and to the secret joy of Scrooge’s nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and so did Scrooge; for wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed quite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.

The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favour, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.

“Here is a new game,” said Scrooge. “One half hour, Spirit, only one!”

It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge’s nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn’t made a show of, and wasn’t led by anybody, and didn’t live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out:

“I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!”

“What is it?” cried Fred.

“It’s your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!”

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to “Is it a bear?” ought to have been “Yes;” inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way.

“He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure,” said Fred, “and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and I say, ‘Uncle Scrooge!’ ”

“Well! Uncle Scrooge!” they cried.

“A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “He wouldn’t take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!”

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels.

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery’s every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts.

It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubts of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Scrooge had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left a children’s Twelfth Night party, when, looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its hair was grey.

“Are spirits’ lives so short?” asked Scrooge.

“My life upon this globe, is very brief,” replied the Ghost. “It ends to-night.”

“To-night!” cried Scrooge.

“To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.”

The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

“Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, “but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?”

“It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,” was the Spirit’s sorrowful reply. “Look here.”

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

“Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!” exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

“Spirit! are they yours?” Scrooge could say no more.

“They are Man’s,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!” cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. “Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And bide the end!”

“Have they no refuge or resource?” cried Scrooge.

“Are there no prisons?” said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. “Are there no workhouses?”

The bell struck twelve.

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

Stave IV – The Last of the Spirits

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.

He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.

“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Scrooge pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.

But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.

“Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

“Lead on!” said Scrooge. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on ’Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.

“No,” said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead.”

“When did he die?” inquired another.

“Last night, I believe.”

“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box. “I thought he’d never die.”

“God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.

“What has he done with his money?” asked a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.

“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker; “for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?”

“I don’t mind going if a lunch is provided,” observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. “But I must be fed, if I make one.”

Another laugh.

“Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,” said the first speaker, “for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I’ll offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that I wasn’t his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!”

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.

“How are you?” said one.

“How are you?” returned the other.

“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”

“So I am told,” returned the second. “Cold, isn’t it?”

“Seasonable for Christmas time. You’re not a skater, I suppose?”

“No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!”

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was Past, and this Ghost’s province was the Future. Nor could he think of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw; and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. For he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solution of these riddles easy.

He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.

Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.

Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.

“Let the charwoman alone to be the first!” cried she who had entered first. “Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker’s man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here’s a chance! If we haven’t all three met here without meaning it!”

“You couldn’t have met in a better place,” said old Joe, removing his pipe from his mouth. “Come into the parlour. You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two an’t strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! How it skreeks! There an’t such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I’m sure there’s no such old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We’re all suitable to our calling, we’re well matched. Come into the parlour. Come into the parlour.”

The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.

While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.

“What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?” said the woman. “Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.”

“That’s true, indeed!” said the laundress. “No man more so.”

“Why then, don’t stand staring as if you was afraid, woman; who’s the wiser? We’re not going to pick holes in each other’s coats, I suppose?”

“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. “We should hope not.”

“Very well, then!” cried the woman. “That’s enough. Who’s the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.”

“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.

“If he wanted to keep ’em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,” pursued the woman, “why wasn’t he natural in his lifetime? If he had been, he’d have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself.”

“It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It’s a judgment on him.”

“I wish it was a little heavier judgment,” replied the woman; “and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I’m not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves, before we met here, I believe. It’s no sin. Open the bundle, Joe.”

But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found there was nothing more to come.

“That’s your account,” said Joe, “and I wouldn’t give another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who’s next?”

Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.

“I always give too much to ladies. It’s a weakness of mine, and that’s the way I ruin myself,” said old Joe. “That’s your account. If you asked me for another penny, and made it an open question, I’d repent of being so liberal and knock off half-a-crown.”

“And now undo my bundle, Joe,” said the first woman.

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.

“What do you call this?” said Joe. “Bed-curtains!”

“Ah!” returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms.

“Bed-curtains!”

“You don’t mean to say you took ’em down, rings and all, with him lying there?” said Joe.

“Yes I do,” replied the woman. “Why not?”

“You were born to make your fortune,” said Joe, “and you’ll certainly do it.”

“I certainly shan’t hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as He was, I promise you, Joe,” returned the woman coolly. “Don’t drop that oil upon the blankets, now.”

“His blankets?” asked Joe.

“Whose else’s do you think?” replied the woman. “He isn’t likely to take cold without ’em, I dare say.”

“I hope he didn’t die of anything catching? Eh?” said old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.

“Don’t you be afraid of that,” returned the woman. “I an’t so fond of his company that I’d loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah! you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won’t find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It’s the best he had, and a fine one too. They’d have wasted it, if it hadn’t been for me.”

“What do you call wasting of it?” asked old Joe.

“Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure,” replied the woman with a laugh.

“Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If calico an’t good enough for such a purpose, it isn’t good enough for anything. It’s quite as becoming to the body. He can’t look uglier than he did in that one.”

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man’s lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. “This is the end of it, you see! He frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha, ha, ha!”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. “I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this!”

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.

Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge’s part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side.

Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!

No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge’s ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly!

He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.

“Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

“I understand you,” Scrooge returned, “and I would do it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.”

Again it seemed to look upon him.

“If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man’s death,” said Scrooge quite agonised, “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”

The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.

She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play.

At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.

He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.

“Is it good?” she said, “or bad?”—to help him.

“Bad,” he answered.

“We are quite ruined?”

“No. There is hope yet, Caroline.”

“If he relents,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.”

“He is past relenting,” said her husband. “He is dead.”
She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke truth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of her heart.

“What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week’s delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then.”

“To whom will our debt be transferred?”

“I don’t know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money; and even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline!”

Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children’s faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man’s death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.

“Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said Scrooge; “or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me.”

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet!

“ ‘And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.’ ”
Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on?

The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.

“The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.

The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

“They’re better now again,” said Cratchit’s wife. “It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn’t show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.”

“Past it rather,” Peter answered, shutting up his book. “But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother.”

They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:

“I have known him walk with—I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”

“And so have I,” cried Peter. “Often.”

“And so have I,” exclaimed another. So had all.

“But he was very light to carry,” she resumed, intent upon her work, “and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!”

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter—he had need of it, poor fellow—came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said, “Don’t mind it, father. Don’t be grieved!”

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said.

“Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his wife.

“Yes, my dear,” returned Bob. “I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!” cried Bob. “My little child!”

He broke down all at once. He couldn’t help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.

He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.

They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge’s nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little—“just a little down you know,” said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. “On which,” said Bob, “for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. ‘I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and heartily sorry for your good wife.’ By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don’t know.”

“Knew what, my dear?”

“Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.

“Everybody knows that!” said Peter.

“Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they do. ‘Heartily sorry,’ he said, ‘for your good wife. If I can be of service to you in any way,’ he said, giving me his card, ‘that’s where I live. Pray come to me.’ Now, it wasn’t,” cried Bob, “for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.”

“I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn’t be at all surprised—mark what I say!—if he got Peter a better situation.”

“Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.”

“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

“It’s just as likely as not,” said Bob, “one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we—or this first parting that there was among us?”

“Never, father!” cried they all.

“And I know,” said Bob, “I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.”

“No, never, father!” they all cried again.

“I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy!”

Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!

“Spectre,” said Scrooge, “something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead?”

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before—though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the Future—into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.

“This court,” said Scrooge, “through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!”

The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

“The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed. “Why do you point away?”

The inexorable finger underwent no change.

Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.

He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering.

A churchyard. Here, then; the wretched man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation’s death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place!

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.

“Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,” said Scrooge, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?”

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

“Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!”

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.

“Am I that man who lay upon the bed?” he cried, upon his knees.

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

The finger still was there.

“Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at its robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!”

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

“Good Spirit,” he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: “Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!”

The kind hand trembled.

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.

Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

Stave V – The End of It

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own.

Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!” Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. “The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!”

He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.

“They are not torn down,” cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, “they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here—I am here—the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!”

His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.

“I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!”

He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.

“There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. “There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There’s the window where I saw the wandering Spirits! It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha!”

Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!

“I don’t know what day of the month it is!” said Scrooge. “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!”

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!

“What’s to-day!” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.

“Eh?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.

“What’s to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge.

“To-day!” replied the boy. “Why, Christmas Day.”

“It’s Christmas Day!” said Scrooge to himself. “I haven’t missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!”

“Hallo!” returned the boy.

“Do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but one, at the corner?” Scrooge inquired.

“I should hope I did,” replied the lad.

“An intelligent boy!” said Scrooge. “A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”

“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.

“What a delightful boy!” said Scrooge. “It’s a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!”

“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.

“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it.”

“Walk-er!” exclaimed the boy.

“No, no,” said Scrooge, “I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell ’em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I’ll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown!”

The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.

“I’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s!” whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. “He sha’n’t know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob’s will be!”

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer’s man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.

“I shall love it, as long as I live!” cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face! It’s a wonderful knocker!—Here’s the Turkey! Hallo! Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!”

It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped ’em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.

“Why, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,” said Scrooge. “You must have a cab.”

The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.

Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don’t dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaister over it, and been quite satisfied.

He dressed himself “all in his best,” and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, “Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!” And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said,

“Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe?” It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.

“My dear sir,” said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. “How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!”

“Mr. Scrooge?”

“Yes,” said Scrooge. “That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness”—here Scrooge whispered in his ear.

“Lord bless me!” cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. “My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?”

“If you please,” said Scrooge. “Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favour?”

“My dear sir,” said the other, shaking hands with him. “I don’t know what to say to such munifi—”

“Don’t say anything, please,” retorted Scrooge. “Come and see me. Will you come and see me?”

“I will!” cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.

“Thank’ee,” said Scrooge. “I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!”

He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk—that anything—could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew’s house.

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:

“Is your master at home, my dear?” said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he, my love?” said Scrooge.

“He’s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll show you up-stairs, if you please.”

“Thank’ee. He knows me,” said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. “I’ll go in here, my dear.”

He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.

“Fred!” said Scrooge.

Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn’t have done it, on any account.

“Why bless my soul!” cried Fred, “who’s that?”

“It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?”

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.

“Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it.

“What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?”

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I am behind my time.”

“You are?” repeated Scrooge. “Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.”

“It’s only once a year, sir,” pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. “It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.”

“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; 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; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; 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, Every One!

A CHRISTMAS CAROL BY CHARLES DICKENS

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORY ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Generosity

1. How does Scrooge act towards others at the start of the story?

2. By the end of the story, how has Scrooge changed? What kinds of things does he want to give to others after meeting the ghosts?

3. How do you think Scrooge being more generous with others will affect his future? Do you think he will have a better future? Why or why not?

The post A Christmas Carol first appeared on Bedtime Stories.