Disney's a Christmas Carol

by James Ponti

  The spirit didn’t answer; he just motioned for Scrooge to listen to Belle and her husband talk.

  “I saw an old friend of yours today,” the man said to her.

  “Who was it?” asked Belle.

  “Guess!”

  “How can I?” she asked, and then a thought came to her and she flashed a smile. “Mr. Scrooge!”

  Her husband laughed. “Mr. Scrooge it was,” he told her. “I passed his office window and he had a candle inside.”

  For a moment Belle’s husband stopped and his voice saddened. “His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear.” He continued shaking his head. “And there he sat quite alone in the world.”

  Scrooge realized that this was the day that Marley had died. “Spirit,” Scrooge said, turning to the ghost, “remove me from this place.”

  The spirit shook his head. “I told you these were shadows of things that have been,” he reminded Ebenezer. “They are what they are. Do not blame me.”

  The swirl of emotion was overwhelming. “Remove me,” he demanded. “I cannot bear it!”

  Suddenly the ghost’s face began to change into a quick succession of all the faces they had seen that night: young Scrooge, Fan, Wilkins, Fezziwig, and Belle.

  Shaking with terror, Scrooge grabbed the golden extinguisher cap from the spirit and pressed it down hard on his head, covering the beam of light and finally putting out the flame.

  “Leave me,” Scrooge bellowed. “Take me back! Haunt me no longer!”

  He pushed all the way down on the cap, and everything darkened until Scrooge was in a place that did not even seem a part of this Earth. It was a black void. But even still, some light seeped out from beneath the cap. This light pulsated faster and faster, brighter and brighter, until the golden cap began to vibrate and then erupt like a rocket thundering into the atmosphere.

  Scrooge held on for dear life as they soared toward the heavens, the moon and stars growing larger and closer.

  Ebenezer reached the end of his flight as he passed in front of the full moon. Then he began a terrifying drop back toward the Earth.

  Falling like a rock, thousands of feet per second, he would have screamed but for the forces of motion and gravity that were pulling his face in every direction. When he punched through a cloud, he was able to see the Earth below. He hurtled toward England, then closer still toward London, and finally toward his house on Lime Street.

  At breakneck speed Scrooge zoomed right toward the ridge that ran atop his roof. Just as he was about to slam into it, Ebenezer closed his eyes, too fearful to watch.

  Somehow he passed through to his bedroom and slammed hard into the floor. After a moment of uncertainty, he caught his breath and realized where he was.

  Unlike the visit from Marley’s ghost, Scrooge had no doubt that what he’d just been through was real. And knowing that Marley had been right about the first ghost meant he was surely right about what was to come.

  Scrooge began to rattle with fear as he looked toward the door of his bedchamber and saw a light suddenly pass beneath it.

  Had the second spirit arrived… early?

  Scrooge struggled to avoid the light that was now streaming into his room from under the door. He jumped into his bed and attempted to pull the covers up over his head, but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t reach. Some unseen force kept stopping the blankets, tugging them away from his face and forcing him to look at the bloodred glow. The spirit had indeed arrived.

  The bolt suddenly unlocked itself, and the door flew open. In an instant, the room was flooded with blinding light.

  From inside the sitting room, a loud voice boomed, “Enter, Scroooooooge!”

  Scrooge had absolutely no intention of getting out of his bed and going into the sitting room. But he didn’t have much choice. To his horror, the bed was pulled by some unseen force and started to slide across the floor toward the door. When it got close, the bed jerked to a stop and flipped Scrooge up into the air.

  He landed at the threshold of the sitting room, the blazing light almost blinding him. When he looked into the room, he could not believe his eyes. It was stretched completely out of its normal dimensions. The walls were forty feet tall and the ceiling looked like it belonged in a cathedral. Every inch of this gigantic room was decorated for Christmas. The walls were covered with fresh evergreens, holly, mistletoe, and ivy.

  A roaring fire blazed in a massive fireplace. And piled in the middle of the floor as if on some sort of throne were heaps of holiday food: turkeys, geese, game hens, barrels of plum pudding, luscious pastries, and delicious steaming bowls of punch. Sitting on top of this mighty throne was a giant nearly fifteen feet tall wearing a green robe trimmed in white fur. The giant had dark brown curls that hung long and free alongside his kindly face. On top of his head sat a holly wreath draped with glistening icicles.

  It was the Ghost of Christmas Present, sparkling, cheery, and joyful. He held a burning torch and lifted it to cast a light on Scrooge.

  “Come in and know me better, man,” the ghost instructed Scrooge.

  Scrooge realized that there was no way to avoid this so he shuffled into the room, his head hanging low as he nervously looked down at his slippers.

  “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” the spirit bellowed. “Look upon me!”

  Scrooge nervously looked up at him.

  “You have never seen the likes of me before?” asked the ghost.

  “Never,” Scrooge answered, shaking his head.

  The specter asked, “Have never walked forth with my elder brothers?”

  “I don’t think I have,” Scrooge answered honestly. “You have many brothers?”

  The ghost smiled. “More than eighteen hundred,” he answered with a laugh. “Eighteen hundred forty-two, to be exact.”

  It took Scrooge a moment to realize that there was one brother for every Christmas. Then he noticed that the ghost had a belt with an ancient scabbard that had decayed and been eaten by rust. The scabbard was empty.

  “I see you wear a scabbard but no sword,” Scrooge said.

  “Indeed,” the ghost answered as he shot Scrooge a sharp look. “Peace on earth. Goodwill toward men.”

  “Spirit,” Ebenezer said, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding the lesson this ghost was about to teach him. “Conduct me where you will.”

  “Touch my robe,” the spirit instructed him.

  Scrooge reached toward the robe with his bony hand. When he touched it, the ghost started to shrink, collapsing its gargantuan frame down to a slightly more manageable nine feet.

  He tipped his torch and out poured sparkling magic dust that twinkled on the floor. As the dust settled, the floor became transparent as if the boards had turned to glass.

  The image startled Scrooge and he jumped back, worried that the glass might break. But it held firm just as though it were still wooden. Next, the ghost poured out some more of his magic dust, and the room suddenly started to rise straight up.

  Terrified, Scrooge pulled himself closer to the ghost as the room detached from the house and started floating above the streets of London. Scrooge looked down on the world below him and saw a young boy in his Sunday clothes trudging through the snow and pulling a bright red sleigh.

  “Very strange,” Scrooge said nervously.

  “Indeed,” agreed the spirit. “Not many mortals are granted a heavenly perspective of man’s world.”

  The two of them flew over London, and everywhere they looked, they saw people happily enjoying the spirit of Christmas, showing goodwill to one another. They passed through the dingy smoke coming from chimneys and brushed over the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the rooftops of the city. At one point, the ghost saw two men arguing, and he diverted their vehicle until it hovered over them. He sprinkled some magical dust from on high and when it landed on the two, they quickly went from fighting to laughing with each other as they walked arm in arm.

  Next, the room flew over London to a
part of the city known as Camden Town. Here they swooped down over a small brick building, and the ghost poured out another helping of his magic dust.

  “I take it this pauper’s bleak dwelling is of some significance,” Scrooge said.

  The ghost gave Scrooge a wry smile and nodded toward the house. “’Tis all your loyal clerk can afford,” said the spirit, “for his meager fifteen bob a week.”

  Scrooge sighed at the realization that this pathetic home was where his employee, Bob Cratchit, lived. The ghost lowered the flying room, and it magically passed through the roof of the house until they were looking down on the cramped home.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Cratchit and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Belinda, were preparing Christmas dinner. It was a warm and loving scene, and both were smiling and joking with each other. Suddenly two more of the Cratchit children hurried in from outside.

  “Mother,” cried the young girl, “we just came by the baker’s shop…”

  Before she could say another word, her little brother finished the sentence. “…and smelled our goose. Cooking delicious.”

  Mrs. Cratchit looked at the clock above the fireplace. “Whatever got your precious father then?” she asked them. “And Martha? She wasn’t as late last Christmas Day.”

  The little girl looked out the window and smiled. “Here she is,” she announced. “Here’s Martha.”

  Moments later, Martha, the eldest Cratchit daughter walked into the house carrying bags and packages. The younger children all surrounded her and excitedly told her all about the day’s events.

  “Wait till you see our goose,” said her little brother. “’Tis a wonderful one!”

  Mrs. Cratchit grabbed a platter from the table and handed it to Peter, her oldest son. “Off with you to the baker’s and collect the bird,” she instructed him. “Take the children with you and no dallying.”

  Peter gladly took on this important task and led his brothers and sisters out the door. Once they were outside, Mrs. Cratchit had a moment to greet her daughter.

  “Why, bless your heart alive, my dear,” she said as she kissed Martha on the cheek. “How late you are.”

  “We had a deal of work to finish up last night,” the young woman explained. “And had to clear away this morning.”

  Mrs. Cratchit helped Martha off with her shawl. “Never mind, so long as you’re here,” she said happily. “Sit down before the fire, Lord bless you.”

  “No, no,” Belinda said excitedly as she looked out the window. “Father’s coming. Hide, Martha.”

  Martha giggled as she quickly snuck into the closet and closed the door behind her.

  Watching from above, Scrooge rolled his eyes at all the silliness. But the ghost smacked him in the head with the handle of his torch.

  “Ow,” Scrooge yelped. He turned to complain, but something about the ghost’s appearance caught his eye. He noticed that small wrinkles had begun to form around the spirit’s mouth and eyes. And his brown hair now had gray streaks at the temples. The ghost was aging right before his eyes.

  The door burst open and when Scrooge looked down, he saw Bob Cratchit enter the house carrying his youngest son, Tiny Tim, on his shoulders.

  Tiny Tim was small, even for a six-year-old. He carried a wooden crutch and wore iron braces on his legs. Once inside, Cratchit lifted Tim off his shoulders and handed him to Belinda, who helped him with his comforter. Tiny Tim was sickly, but his attitude and personality were the brightest in the family.

  “Where’s our Martha?” Cratchit asked.

  Mrs. Cratchit shook her head sadly. “Not coming,” she said.

  “Not coming,” Cratchit said, his happy mood suddenly deflated. “Not coming upon Christmas Day?”

  Just then, the closet door burst open and Martha rushed across the room to her father.

  “Here I am,” she said as she wrapped him in a tight, warm hug.

  “I’m so happy to see you.” Cratchit beamed.

  Belinda knew that Tim would love to see the washhouse where the desserts were cooling. “Come on, Timmy,” she said. “Shall we have a look?”

  “And how did little Tim behave,” his mother asked once he had exited the room.

  “Good as gold,” Cratchit said as she handed him a stack of mismatched plates. “Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much and thinks the strangest things you ever heard,” he continued as he began arranging the plates on the table. “He told me while coming home that he hoped the people saw him in church, because he is a cripple and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day who made lame beggars walk and blind men see.”

  Both Mrs. Cratchit and Martha began to tear up at the story.

  “I believe he grows stronger and more hearty every day my dear,” Cratchit continued.

  He turned to his wife and daughter, but neither said a word. They just nodded and smiled weakly, wiping away the tears when they heard Tim and Belinda walking into the room.

  “The whole washhouse smells like a pastry shop,” Tim announced.

  Even the ghost was beginning to get choked with emotion. He sprinkled a small dose of dust over Cratchit and Tiny Tim. When he turned to look at Scrooge he saw something unusual. Scrooge had a look of actual compassion and concern as he looked down on the clerk and his family.

  “Spirit, tell me,” Scrooge said. “Will Tiny Tim…”

  The spirit didn’t even wait for Scrooge to finish the question. “I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney corner,” he said, looking into the future. “And a crutch without an owner… carefully preserved.”

  Scrooge was overcome with sadness at the thought that Tiny Tim might not live much longer.

  Suddenly, there was a loud roar below, and the rest of the Cratchit children paraded into the room carrying the roast goose. Peter ceremoniously placed the platter in the center of the table as everybody hustled to their seats.

  Cratchit lifted Tiny Tim and sat him on a chair next to his own and then leaned over the steaming goose to inhale its delicious aroma.

  “I don’t believe I have ever seen a more magnificent goose,” he said.

  “’Tis a beautiful bird, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Cratchit said with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But I pray that one Christmas the children might taste a turkey.”

  Cratchit nodded. He too wished that he could provide finer things for his family. “Perhaps one day,” he said with a warm smile. Then he lifted his cup and everybody did likewise. “A toast, to Mr. Scrooge, the founder of our feast!”

  Scrooge could not believe that he was being mentioned at the dinner. Neither could Mrs. Cratchit.

  “The founder of our toast, indeed,” she snarled as she jumped to her feet. “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.”

  Scrooge withered and tried to hide behind the ghost. But the spirit made sure Ebenezer could see it all.

  “My dear,” Cratchit protested to his wife. “The children. Christmas Day.”

  “Christmas Day, I am sure,” she responded. “How can one drink the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge? You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows better than you.”

  Cratchit looked calmly at his wife and replied. “My dear. Christmas Day.”

  Mrs. Cratchit took a deep breath and looked at her husband for a moment before responding. “I’ll drink his health for your sake and the day’s, not for his.”

  Cratchit nodded in agreement, and she lifted her cup.

  “A merry Christmas and a happy New Year,” Mrs. Cratchit toasted. “He’ll be very merry and happy, I have no doubt.”

  The other Cratchits raised their cups halfheartedly to complete the toast.

  Mrs. Cratchit regained her composure and once again raised her cup, this time much more happily as she toasted the entire family.

  “A merry Christmas to us all, my dears,” she called out. “God bless us!”

  “God bless
us!” they responded.

  “God bless us, everyone!” Tiny Tim added.

  Cratchit reached down and took hold of his son’s little hand and clutched it tightly with a combination of love and pride.

  Up above, Scrooge brushed a small tear from his cheek.

  “Kind spirit,” Scrooge pleaded, “say Tiny Tim will be spared.”

  The Ghost of Christmas Present shook his head sadly. “If these shadows remain unaltered by the future,” he told Scrooge. “The child will die.”

  Ebenezer squeezed his eyes shut in sadness. “Die? No, spirit, no!”

  “‘If he is to die, he had better do it’”—as the ghost responded, his face turned into the spitting image of Scrooge himself—“‘and decrease the surplus population.’”

  Scrooge recognized what he had said earlier in the day to the two men who had come looking for charitable donations. He was ashamed to hear his words come back at him. Especially considering the condition of the little boy below.

  The spirit’s face returned to its normal shape, and Scrooge was struck speechless by embarrassment.

  As the Cratchits said grace, the ghost sent the room racing out of London and across the countryside so fast that Scrooge was knocked down. Pressed against the clear floor and terrified that they might crash at any moment, Scrooge watched as the land sped beneath him at incredible speed.

  Finally, the ghost brought the room to a stop in a barren area surrounded by huge rock formations. It was cold and desolate.

  “What place is this?” asked Scrooge.

  “A place where miners live,” said the spirit. “They labor in the bowels of the earth, yet they know me.”

  Scrooge looked down and saw a light shining through the window of a small hut. Scrooge and the spirit were lowered down into the hut until they could see a miner and his family sitting around a glowing fire. They were poor and humble, but their hearts were filled with Christmas joy as they sang “The First Noel.”

  “They know me,” the spirit said, smiling warmly. “And have known my brothers for generations.”

  Before Scrooge could even respond, the ghost sent their chamber speeding across the countryside once again.