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Tolling church bells awakens Ebenezer Scrooge, their ring coming clear in the crisp, morning air. Unhurriedly he sits up in bed and glances around his bedroom. All his possessions are left just as they were the previous night. “Humbug. Just a nightmare,” Scrooge mumbles to himself. He groggily tosses his bed covers aside and gets up to wash his sullen face, and then proceeds to change from his night gown into aristocratic, pressed business attire. Not a moment later, the startling, unexpected chime of a large, oak grandfather clock strikes 9 o’clock. The disturbance sends him scurrying down a red-carpeted staircase in the direction of the kitchen. Finding that no breakfast has been made, never-mind his coffee, he bursts into his maid’s suite. “What is the meaning of this?” he screams. Being jolted awake by his vicious yelling, she begins to weep, astounded by Ebenezer’s cruelty. “It’s Christmas day, sir,” she moans through tears, now streaming down her pale face. Without giving time for any more verbal exchange he picks her up and hurls her at a polished dresser in the room. He crouches down and tears through the wooden floorboards and opens the earth. Then, dragging the maid’s crumpled body from the corner, he casts her into the depth of Hades, and closes the gaping crevasse. “That’ll teach you for not having breakfast ready for me!” he scoffs. Scrooge storms out of the room and down the corridor to his hall closet. He selects a snug winter coat and a woolen scarf, throwing them on in a disordered fashion. He bolts out the door into the sparkling white-blanketed street. The still air leaves stray gray clouds hanging like a gigantic mobile. He signals a taxi carriage to take him to the butchery. Upon his arrival, two youngsters run across his path as he is gingerly stepping from the horse drawn sleigh. Enraged with their playful spirit, he pulls two polished revolvers from holsters on each hip. Cocking the hammers of the lethal devices he aims them at children, sunlight glinting off the barrels. Then in unison: two! Four! Six! Eight! Ten! Twelve shots penetrate the frosty cold and drive through bundled layers of cloth, ripping through their backs and shattering their bones. Satisfied with his brief killing spree, Scrooge smashes through the frost lined shop window of the butchery sending shards of glass everywhere. A terrified butcher stoops behind the counter. Scrooge takes notice of the shopkeeper’s heavy breathing and demands that he stand. The man slowly gets to his feet and looks shakily back at Scrooge who is now pointing a bony index finger in his direction. “You!” Ebenezer roars. ”Where are the virgins?” “Wha… wah… what virgins si… sir?” The man replies unsteadily. Giving hardly enough time to respond, Scrooge screams back. “Where are you hiding them?” Then without giving him a moment for thought, Ebenezer pulls a cow pelvis from his utility belt and starts clubbing the poor fellow. After falling unconscious to the coble stone floor, two silver shillings roll from the meat cutter’s white apron. Scrooge dashes for the coins, and tucks them into his own pocket. He stumbles toward the prize turkey in the window, not yet bought because of its outrageous price. Scrooge looks with awe at the size of the bird. He’d never set his eyes on such a massive turkey before. Forgetting all about the phantom “virgins” that he demanded not minutes before, Scrooge races to the rear of the building. There he finds a bright red wheelbarrow. Wheeling it to the front, he hoists the turkey into it and the maneuvers the load out into the street passing the bodies of the children whose cadavers have by now bloodied the snow, turning it to a deep crimson hue. After a few blocks, Scrooge stops in front of a bakery. This family-run bread house gladly cooks Christmas turkeys. Scrooge wheels in the bird and with a pleasant voice requests for service at the purchase counter. A pudgy baker rounds the corner, a cheerful smile reflecting his mood. “Good day to you, sir, and a Merry Christmas! What can I do for you? No, let me guess: cook that enormous bird for you!” He says. “That,” Scrooge replies, “and if you stuff it I’ll give ten more shillings!” “As a matter of fact, I’ve got some stuffing ready to go now,” the plump man states. “Excellent. I’ll be back by 12 o’clock,” said Scrooge. On his way out Ebenezer stuffs his pockets with fruitcake and strudels. Munching his tart delicacies, Scrooge strolls down to The Cratchit’s home. The gleeful squeals of children and singing of Christmas tunes flow melodically out the house. Sweet aromas drift through the air from out of the kitchen. Scrooge crosses the Avenue and steals a holly wreath off the door of a neighbor. Then marching to Bob Cratchit’s, he places the wreath neatly on his arm and taps the doorknocker twice awaiting an answer. Bob swings the door wide open, and with a surprised look analyzes the scene. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas,” Scrooge bellows in a joyous Santa like voice. “Why… why… it’s Ebenezer Scrooge! What a delightful surprise! On Christmas morn too. I suppose I don’t have any work today do I?” Bob says in disbelief. “No sir! We’ll have none of that on such a wonderful day of the year!” Scrooge replies. “Well, who would have guessed: mean old Ebenezer Scrooge, having the time of his life. Enjoying Christmas! Taking a workday off! I am amazed,” says Bob, his wife now at his side. Scrooge presents the wreath to Cratchit and then answers, “well, I must be on my way now, but I’ll be sure to drop by later.” Scrooge and Cratchit wish each other Merry Christmas then Scrooge leaves, this time in the direction of his nephew’s home. On his way there, he decides to drop in at the old blacksmith’s shop. The building is well kept even amongst the soot and scraps of metal. The blacksmith is a kind old gentleman, about the age of Scrooge. “Merry Christmas!” Scrooge greets old McCauley, the blacksmith. “Merry Christmas!” McCauley repeats in an equally cheery tone. “What do you think you could create that would thrill five or so children? Something that they could truly take pleasure in,” Scrooge asks. “Well, there’s not much a blacksmith can make to entertain children,” said McCauley. “I can, however, make some tin soldiers and a ballerina or two.” “That would be delightful!” Exclaimed Scrooge. “I used to know a little about blacksmithing my self. Maybe I can help.” “My apprentice isn’t here today, so you can use his side of the shop,” replies McCauley. Scrooge saunters over to the workbench and examines the tools. He drops them and walks to the blazing furnace where a cauldron of molten steel sits, fumes shooting up like spirits. Dipping his hand in, scrooge takes a handful of the liquefied metal, squeezing it between his fingers. He quickly sets to work, making a replica of a ship he’d seen at a harbor on the coast. Then taking twine and some fabric snippets, he puts together some rigging and the first toy is complete. This molding process is carried out three more times with a train, a horse, and a cart. “I’ve finished 12 soldiers and 4 ballerina… Scrooge! How did you do that? How were you able to hold that steel? It must be a thousand degrees!” McCauley says in astonishment. Scrooge, now squeezing some steel into pipes, replies, ”What? Hold the steel? Yes indeed, my friend, it amazes me too. Why don’t you give it a try yourself?” Scrooge lifts a handful of molten steal and tosses it to McCauley. McCauley, not knowing what to do, automatically stretches his hand out to catch it. Not a moment later the shop is filled with moans of agony. The steel was so hot it severed McCauley’s hands off like a razor, leaving poor, old McCauley with two smoldering, charred stubs. Scrooge picks up the toys and his pipes to be delivered and walks out of the shop nonchalantly, leaving a miserable McCauley rolled in ball on the ground. Heading for the woods, Scrooge leaves the toys in a secret storage cache, carrying the slender cylinders over his shoulder. Seeing a pack of wild boars scrounging for food in the snow, Scrooge darts after them with his scarf, now tied into a lasso. He captures six of the pigs and secures them to separate trees. Then, taking his stack of pipes, he lodges them into the their heads, connecting them all together. After that, he tears his scarf into strips and straps his coat in the middle of the hexagon, creating a makeshift net. He proceeds to mount and directs the swine back to his storeroom and collects together all of the toys. Riding wildly through the snowy streets of London, it occurs to Scrooge that he needs to pick up his giant Christmas turkey. Ebenezer steers the pigs to the bread house. He crawls off and waltzes into the jolly bakery. “So, you’ve come back I see,” says a jovial baker. “I have indeed. Has my bird finished?” Asks Scrooge. “She’s all done!” The baker exclaims “Delightful! Now, you die.” Scrooge retorts. “I beg your pardon?” responds the baker with a nervous grin. Scrooge charges at the man and knocks him to the ground. Then he picks the baker up, takes him out side and launches him through the fogy sky, like a ball of flames, into orbit. Scrooge then loads his turkey onto his boar train and leaves for Bob Cratchit’s house. When he arrives, he takes note that Bob has hung the wreath delicately on the front door. Rapping lightly with the doorknocker, Scrooge waits for someone to answer. Bob, almost ripping the door off its hinges, welcomes Scrooge with a deep Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Scrooge holds the turkey on a platter he cast at the blacksmith’s. The turkey is decorated with a holly garland and glazed to perfection. Steam swells and the aroma wafts through the entire home. A satchel stuffed with toys sits at Scrooges feet. “Merry Christmas to you again, Bob! I’m afraid I can’t stay for long. My nephew has invited me to dinner. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” Scrooge exclaims. “I can hardly believe it! The prize turkey! I would’ve never been able to afford this! How can I ever thank you?” Cratchit remarks. “Oh there’s no need for that. Here,” says Scrooge, handing Bob the sack of toys. “These are for your children. I made them myself!” With tears welling in his eyes, Bob replies, “this is the best Christmas ever! I shall never forget it. Come children. Say thank you to ‘Uncle’ Scrooge! Oh dear! Tim isn’t here; he’s off to get milk. But he’d thank you nonetheless.” The children and wife gather at the entrance, each expressing much gratitude. Turning to hand out toys to his children, Bob utters, “I guess we’ll see each other at work tomorrow then, Scrooge?” When a reply doesn’t come he turns to see that Scrooge has already left. Shutting the door behind him, Bob asks his wife where she’s hidden the turkey. He dances excitedly into the toasty warm kitchen, eying the turkey on the dining table. A white envelope protrudes from between the bird and the holly garland. Cratchit picks it up, tears it open and reads the message. Bob Cratchit No, there’s no work for you today! You can count this a great blessing if you please. You can have tomorrow off as well. In fact, you can have the whole year off because you’re fired! Ebenezer Scrooge On his way to his nephew’s home, he encounters tiny Tim limping down the road with a bottle of milk tucked safely beneath his arm. Scrooge dismounts his pig train and marches toward the boy. “Merry Chrithmith Mithter Thcrooge!” Tim lisps. Ebenezer Scrooge doesn’t respond, but instead kicks the boy’s good knee and sends him soaring a few yards into a mound of freshly shoveled snow. Then he picks op Timothy’s crutch and ferociously snaps it over his knee like a dry twig, sending splinters in all directions. Climbing onto his pig train, Scrooge heads for his nephew’s unaware that a police officer had seen the whole incident. He orders Scrooge to halt. When he doesn’t, the officer mounts his brawny horse and pursues Ebenezer. Scrooge advances to the shady woods and makes it as far as the bottom of an abrupt precipice, executing him and his pig’s instantly on the jagged boulders below. Then, slowly crawling up from the wreckage of steel pipes and pig corpses, Scrooge gradually makes his way from the bottom of a deep, misty gorge to the forest’s edge and there collapses against a massive fir. Examining his once fatal wounds, Scrooge figures he should tend to his inflictions. Taking a spare soldier from his coat pocket, scrooge takes and squeezes it with such immense strength that he’s able to make a nonporous steel scalpel. He uses it to make incisions where they’re needed and remove particles from his gashes. Then he takes the blade and forces it into a needle and uses thread from his stockings to stitch the larger cuts. Once he finishes this he takes a much-needed rest under the bows of the fir. “I am the ghost of Christmas X! Follow me and I will show you every Christmas since the end of time. If you chose not to, I have no choice but to bestow immortality upon you and strap you to the inside of a giant church bell!” Says a quavering voice. Scrooge rouses and hollers forcefully to the spirit, “leave me alone already! Stop this torment! Go and harass someone else!” Ebenezer rushes out of the forest, leaving imprints wide apart. He arrives in town and eying a café, he opts to go in. An inviting fire cozies the small café and gives it a warm glow. Sitting down at a table near to the fireplace, Scrooge signals for an attendant. The man saunters over to Scrooge and offers him a selection of coffees and delicacies. Choosing Cappuccino and a cinnamon roll, Scrooge rubs his hands together to warm himself. The waiter comes back a few moments later with a frothy cup and a steamy bun. He looks at Ebenezer questioningly, eying Scrooge’s sores. “What happened to you?” He asks. “Good lad, I’ve fallen off a cliff!” Scrooge replies. “Oh. Have you?” The waiter retorts skeptically. “Yes indeed! It was quite a drop. About 200 feet or so!” Scrooge fires back. The waiter scoffs and walks away.
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