A Christmas Carol Part 2: Bedtime Story

Hello dear ones,

And welcome to today's reading,

Part 2 of A Christmas Carol.

Just taking a few moments,

As always,

To make yourself comfortable.

If you're in bed,

Snuggling down into your duvet,

Maybe stretching out your body,

And allowing your breath to become longer,

Gentler.

And when you are nice and cozy,

We will begin.

Chapter 3.

The Ghost of Christmas Present Scrooge awoke to the sound of bells,

Bright,

Rolling,

Joyful bells,

That seemed to ring from everywhere at once.

His room glowed with a warm golden light,

And the air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and spiced oranges.

He blinked.

This was certainly not his usual morning.

A booming laugh echoed through the chamber.

Come in,

Ebenezer Scrooge.

Come in and know me better.

Scrooge turned toward the sound and gasped.

There stood a giant of a man,

Robed in brilliant green,

Trimmed with white fur,

His bare feet planted firmly on the wooden floor.

His hair and beard were long and curling,

His eyes sparkled like starlight on snow,

And his smile warmed the room like a blazing fire.

Around him,

Scrooge's gloomy quarters had transformed into a feast hall,

Overflowing with delights.

Bowls of sugared plums,

Heaps of fruit,

Wheels of cheese,

Gleaming pastries,

And a great steaming goose at the center of it all.

I am the ghost of Christmas present,

The giant declared,

Opening his arms wide.

Spirit of merriment,

Spirit of goodwill,

And tonight,

Your guide.

Scrooge managed a small bow.

If you would be so kind.

The spirit lifted his lantern-high torch,

And the room melted away into a whirl of light.

They stood suddenly on the snowy streets of London.

The early morning air buzzed with excitement.

Children pulled sleds,

Shopkeepers swept sparkling paths,

And families hurried along with parcels tied in neat ribbons.

Look,

Said the spirit,

Gesturing.

See how Christmas stirs even the wariest soul.

Scrooge watched as a poor man slipped on the ice.

Instead of scolding him,

A stranger helped him up,

Brushing snow from his coat.

They laughed and continued walking together.

A baker carried an extra loaf under his arm and gifted it to a shivering child.

Two older women bundled in thick scarves handed steaming cups of tea to a group of carolers.

Everywhere Scrooge looked,

Kindness flowed freely.

Small gestures,

Simple smiles,

Brief moments of warmth.

He felt something shift in his chest.

The spirit led him through winding lanes to a modest little house with smoke curling cheerfully from its chimney.

Inside was the Cratchit home.

Scrooge approached the window as if afraid to breathe too loudly.

The small dwelling was humble,

Its furnishings warm,

But everything inside glowed with love.

Mrs.

Cratchit moved gracefully between a tiny stove and a wobbly table set with great care.

Belinda and Martha stirred saucers,

Arranging sprigs of holly.

Peter tried bravely to look grown up in his stiff collar.

But Scrooge's eyes were drawn to a small boy by the fire,

Tiny Tim.

He held a little wooden crutch and wore a cheerful smile that seemed far too bright for his frail body.

Bob Cratchit entered the room,

Lifting Tim onto his shoulder.

Merry Christmas,

My lovelies.

Merry Christmas,

Father,

They chimed.

Tim giggled,

Tapping Bob's cheek.

I went to church today.

Everyone looked at me,

But I didn't mind.

I was thinking,

Maybe looking at me reminds them of miracles.

Scrooge felt a tightness in his throat.

Spirit,

He whispered,

Tell me,

Will Tiny Tim live?

The spirit's brightness dimmed.

If these shadows remain unaltered by the future,

The child will not survive another Christmas.

Scrooge's heart clenched.

The Cratchits gathered for their feast.

The goose was small,

The pudding modest.

But the joy in the room rivaled that of king's.

They toasted their blessings,

Shared laughter,

And celebrated with gratitude.

Then Bob raised his glass.

Merry Christmas to Mr.

Scrooge,

The founder of our feast.

Mrs.

Cratchit nearly dropped her fork.

Founder,

I'd like to give him a piece of my mind,

The stingy,

Squeezing mother,

Bob said gently.

It is Christmas.

Mrs.

Cratchit sighed.

For your sake,

Bob,

And for the day,

I'll toast him.

A merry Christmas to him,

Wherever he is.

Scrooge bowed his head,

Ashamed.

The spirit whisked Scrooge across the city,

Showing him celebrations,

Great and small.

Sailors singing together on a distant ship.

Miners gathering in a deep cavern.

Travelers sharing a simple fire in a lonely outpost.

Everywhere,

People found warmth in one another.

And everywhere,

The spirit's light shone.

Though Scrooge noticed it beginning to fade around the edges.

At last they stood on a quiet street as the night deepened.

My time grows short,

The spirit said.

He opened his robe,

Revealing two small,

Spectral children.

One thin and trembling,

The other wild-eyed with despair.

This boy is ignorance,

Said the spirit.

This girl is want.

Beware of them both.

But most of all,

Beware the boy.

For on his brow,

I see the doom of humankind.

Scrooge,

Shaken to his core,

Reached toward them.

But the spirit drew back.

The giant's form flickered,

Dimming,

Shrinking,

Disappearing like a candle flame in the wind.

Spirit,

Scrooge cried,

Do not leave me yet.

But the night swallowed the lust of the ghost of Christmas present,

Leaving Scrooge trembling in the darkness.

A cold wind curled around him.

A new present loomed behind him,

And Scrooge knew the third spirit had arrived.

Chapter Four The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come Scrooge turned slowly,

His breath catching in his throat.

A tall,

Cloaked figure stood before him,

Draped in shadows so deep they seemed to swallow the light itself.

No face could be seen beneath its hood,

Only a darkness that stretched endlessly.

Though the figure said nothing,

Scrooge somehow understood.

You are the ghost of Christmas yet to come.

The spirit raised one long,

Solemn hand and pointed into the swirling mist before them.

Scrooge shuddered,

But straightened his back.

Lead on,

Spirit.

I am prepared to learn whatever truth you show me.

The silent figure drifted forward,

And the fog parted.

They stood in the heart of the city,

But the cheer Scrooge had witnessed earlier was nowhere to be found.

The day was gray,

The wind biting,

And people hurried by with their collars turned up,

Barely speaking.

Two merchants stood near a doorway,

Chuckling in low voices.

No one will miss him,

One said.

Indeed,

Replied the other.

A miserable old fellow.

Good riddance,

I say.

Scrooge glanced at the ghost.

Who are they speaking of?

The spirit only pointed again.

The vision shifted.

They now stood in a ragged,

Dimly lit room.

Piles of discarded clothes,

Boots,

Curtains,

And even bedcloths lay scattered across the floor.

A woman,

A man,

And a shabby laundress haggled loudly over the items.

I got these from his house myself,

The laundress declared,

Waving a bundle.

He won't need them now,

Will he?

Scrooge recoiled.

Spirit,

Surely this poor wrench deserves some dignity.

Who is this man they plunder?

The ghost did not answer.

Instead,

It pointed toward a shape hidden beneath a thin sheet in the corner.

Scrooge's knees weakened.

No,

Not yet.

I cannot dare to lift it.

But the ghost remained motionless,

Hand outstretched.

Trembling,

Scrooge reached for the cloth and snatched his hand back.

Spirit,

Show me someone who feels something for this man's death.

Anything.

The spirit lowered its hand and the scene dissolved.

They appeared in a small,

Humble home.

A young couple sat at their table,

The wife wringing her hands anxiously.

So he's dead,

Then?

She whispered.

The husband nodded slowly.

Yes.

And though it is terrible to feel relief,

What else can we feel?

His passing gives us time,

Just a little more time to pay our debts.

The wife closed her eyes and exhaled shakily.

Then,

Perhaps we may still find hope.

Scrooge bowed his head.

Is there no kindness connected to this death?

The ghost said nothing.

The world blurred once more.

They stood again at the cratchit home.

But the warmth Scrooge had witnessed earlier was dimmed.

The fire was low,

The room quiet.

Bob Cratchit sat in his chair,

His face lined with grief.

His children clung to him gently.

I saw the place,

Bob whispered,

Where they will lay him.

It's beautiful,

Green grass,

Bright with spring.

He loved watching the people pass by,

Said it made him feel part of the world.

Scrooge's heart squeezed painfully.

He knew before Bob spoke the name.

Oh,

Tiny Tim,

My lovely boy.

A grieving silence fell over the room.

Scrooge turned to the ghost,

Tears in his eyes.

No,

Spirit no,

Tell me this may yet be changed,

Say he may live.

The ghost offered no reply.

It drifted away,

Beckoning.

Scrooge followed,

Desperate.

They moved through a dark,

Silent graveyard.

Snow lay in heavy drifts over crooked stones.

The air was cold enough to bite.

The spirit stopped beside a solitary grave.

Scrooge trembled.

Before I look,

Answer me one thing.

These events you've shown,

Are they shadows of things that will be,

Or only that may be?

The ghost remained silent.

Scrooge's hands shook as he brushed the snow from the headstone.

Ebenezer Scrooge.

He cried out and stumbled backward.

No,

Spirit hear me.

I am not the man I was.

I will not be the man.

I will honour Christmas in my heart.

Not just one day,

But all the days of my life.

He fell to his knees before the cloaked figure.

Oh,

Tell me I may change these shadows.

Tell me my future is not sealed.

The ghost's form began to waver,

Shrinking,

Collapsing inward like smoke drawn into a lantern.

Scrooge reached out.

Spirit.

But the darkness swallowed everything.

The graveyard vanished.

The shadows vanished.

The ghost vanished.

And Scrooge fell through a world of swirling night.

Until,

At last,

He felt the edge of his bed beneath his hands.

Chapter 5 The Transformation Scrooge gasped and clutched at the blankets.

For a moment he did not move,

Afraid the shadows might return.

But then,

Sunlight.

Soft,

Golden,

Gentle sunlight poured through his window.

The room around him was just as it had always been.

Cold,

Cluttered,

And ordinary.

But to Scrooge,

It looked as wondrous a place as a palace.

He sat up slowly.

I'm alive,

He whispered.

I'm here.

The spirits have done it all in one night.

He leaped from his bed,

Light on his feet,

Almost childlike,

And hurried to the window.

Outside,

The town sparkled under a bright Christmas morning sky.

Church bells rang joyfully.

Children ran through the snow.

Families hurried by with baskets and laughter.

Scrooge threw open the window,

Letting the crisp,

Cheerful air rush in.

A boy passed below,

His arms full of snowballs.

You,

There,

Scrooge called.

What day is it?

The boy looked up,

Wide-eyed.

Why,

It's Christmas Day,

Sir.

Christmas Day?

Scrooge exclaimed.

Then I haven't missed it.

The spirits have indeed done it all in one night.

His heart soared.

My boy,

Do you know the butcher on the next street?

The one with the great big price turkey?

Of course I do.

Is it still there?

It's still hanging in the window,

Sir.

Then go and buy it,

Scrooge said,

Beaming.

And tell him to deliver it to Bob Cratchit's house.

Tell him it's from Ebenezer Scrooge himself.

The boy stared.

Really,

Sir?

Really.

And if you do it in under five minutes,

There's a shilling in it for you.

The boy shot off like a winter arrow.

Scrooge laughed,

A warm,

Bubbling laugh he didn't even recognize as his own.

He dressed quickly,

Humming as he fumbled with his coat buttons.

Every step felt lighter than air,

As though his heart kept lifting him from the floor.

He stepped into the street,

Greeting everyone he met.

Good morning,

He called to a startled gentleman.

And a Merry Christmas to you,

He said to a pair of astonished women.

People stared,

Unsure whether this was indeed the same Ebenezer Scrooge.

The grumbler,

The miser,

The cold old man who never smiled.

But Scrooge only grinned back,

Happy to surprise them.

He made his way through the busy streets until he reached the home of his nephew.

Fred answered the door,

Blinking in disbelief.

Uncle Scrooge?

Scrooge removed his hat,

Suddenly shy.

My dear nephew,

Will you still have me for Christmas dinner?

Fred broke into a wide,

Joyous smile.

Have you?

Why,

Of course.

Come in,

Come in.

Scrooge spent the afternoon surrounded by laughter,

Stories and warmth.

Things he had long forgotten,

But felt as though he had always known.

For the first time in many years,

He felt truly at home.

The next morning,

Scrooge was at his counting house early.

He sat at his desk,

Waiting.

Bob Cratchit arrived late,

By a good twenty minutes,

Slipping in as quietly as he could.

Scrooge fixed him with a stern glare.

Mr Cratchit,

He said gravely.

What do you mean by coming in at this hour in the morning?

Bob stuttered.

I'm very sorry,

Sir.

It was,

It was Christmas Day,

Sir.

Yes,

Said Scrooge,

Standing.

And therefore,

Mr Cratchit,

I intend to raise your salary.

Bob nearly fell backward.

Scrooge burst into laughter.

A Merry Christmas,

Bob.

A merrier Christmas than you've ever had,

My good fellow.

He stepped forward,

Placing a hand on Bob's shoulder.

I shall help your family.

We'll talk later today,

And we'll see what we can do for Tiny Tim.

Bob's eyes filled with tears.

Bless you,

Sir.

Bless you.

And Scrooge kept his word.

He became a second father to Tiny Tim,

Whose health grew stronger,

Day by day.

The Cratchit family never wanted for warmth or comfort again.

Scrooge spent the rest of his days spreading kindness wherever he went.

He visited homes of the poor,

Donated to charities,

And greeted strangers in the street with warmth and gratitude.

His door was always open,

And his heart even more so.

He did not forget the lessons of the Three Spirits.

Not ever.

And it was said that he became the kindest,

Most generous man the town had ever known.

As for Tiny Tim,

Who did not die,

He often whispered the words that echoed through every heart that knew Scrooge's story.

God bless us.

Every one.