A Christmas Horror

A Christmas Horror

Jacob Marley had been dead for ten plus five years. We must understand this, or this story will make no sense. Ebenezer Scrooge was his business partner, or should I say, loan shark assistant. Both so-called gentlemen amassed a fortune with their financial dealings, to the dismay of the people of lower London in 1893. Neither man had a friend outside one another, and that arrangement suited them well.

Master Marley was making his way home from the office he shared with Scrooge when a horse-drawn carriage purposely sped up and trampled the poor, unfortunate bastard. Driving the carriage was the man Marley and Scrooge had evicted yesterday, and inside were his family and all their belongings. Marley's funeral was scant in every way. A simple wooden box for a coffin which sat on a table, and the only one in attendance was Scrooge (and even he didn't stay for the entire service).

Scrooge continued his crooked business dealings, satisfied with the knowledge that he'd keep all the profits for himself now. Any resentment anyone had toward Marley was now directed at Scrooge, but he didn't give a damn. Deals were made, agreements settled, financial backing and support available, and all of them involved money. He wanted what they promised to him, and he'd find ways to get it.

Not everyone in lower London despised Scrooge. He had his own set of cronies to do the real dirty work. Scallywags and scoundrels that roamed the streets and bars at night itching for mischievous acts. But, even those types, weren't bold enough to stand up to Scrooge when it came to payment. He paid them what he promised them and no more.

On Christmas Eve, Bob Cratchett cried about going home to be with his family for Christmas, like he did every damn year. Ebenezer didn't want to hear it. "Get the hell out, Bob, and leave me alone," Ebenezer shouted. Cratchett scrambled to gather his belongings and dashed from the shop. Ebenezer stayed behind to account for every penny of his money .

He left his shop late at night with nary a person roaming those snow-filled streets. The white snowdrifts sat undisturbed next to each lamp post and on every business storefront. Some had shoveled their walkways while others hadn't, and he cussed those who hadn't. He clutched the lapels of his coat against his neck, and his stooped over gait allowed his top hat to remain secured to his head.

He entered the wrought-iron gate that surrounded his modest gothic residence. A home much too large for a single man, yet that's what he wanted. He pulled out a white hanky to wipe his nose once he approached the front door. His eyes drifted toward the large panther-faced knocker, and for the slightest moment, he swore he saw Jacob Marley's face. He blinked twice, and the image was gone. To hell with it, he thought.

He entered his home, hung up his outer garments and proceeded up the long, curved stairway, taking his sweet time. Inside his bedroom, he lit a fire and prepared to make a paltry supper. As he sat in his lounging chair by the fire to warm up, he heard a rattling.

He turned.

In walked the spectre of Jacob Marley, covered in chains. Ebenezer shook. His eyes had beheld nothing like it before. The spectre circled Ebenezer, then said,

"Ebenezer, I am Jacob Marley, your old business partner, and I came here to warn you. There are people plotting to murder you tonight. You must prepare. Stand up and listen to me well, or you'll end up like me. The chains around my being are symbols of the hate I amassed over my lifetime. You've amassed a great deal of hate also, and the chains you're weaving now are twice as many. They're going to kill you in this room tonight. Do exactly as I say. Now GET UP!"

Ebenezer stood, and the spectre of Jacob guided him on how to prepare his room for attack.

At the stroke of midnight, Ebenezer heard a crowd gathering outside. He peeked out the window. He could see only six, but there could be more. He grasped one of the three fire pokers and hid behind his bedroom door. Footstep sounded on the staircase, and they came closer.

He could hear them whispering just outside the door. Then he saw the doorknob turn and the door push open. His muscles tensed and so did his grip on the poker. He leaned back as the door opened wider and wider. Would they open it all the way until it hit him? He stopped breathing. There were more footsteps entering the room, very soft, nearly silent. He leaned over until he could see where the mob was going. They had surrounded his old four-poster bed with the hanging satin curtains. He'd already stuffed his sheets to make it appear to be a fake, sleeping man.

One man shouted, "Take that, you limey!" and he brought his knife down on the fake Ebenezer. The others joined in with the chant and used their own knives.

The silk curtains jumped from their rods and wrapped around the mob until they couldn't move. Ebenezer stepped from behind the door only to see Jacob's spectre waiting for him. On the floor were six people: four men and two women, and the looks on their faces advertised their terror. Ebenezer approached them and smiled.

"I had a deal, an agreement which included financial backing and support for ALL of you, and this is how you pay me back? Well, this Christmas day will be one people will remember for a long time."

*****

Christmas morning, Ebenezer rose to hear a disturbance in front of his residence. He looked down from his window at the crowd who'd gathered around his wrought-iron fence and smiled. Looks like they admired his six Christmas snowman decorations, each snowman possessing the head of the intruders that broke into his house last night. In the far distance, Ebenezer could hear clanging police bells drawing nearer.