A CHRISTMAS CAROL

A Ghost Story of Christmas

by Charles Dickens

Preface

In this spooky little book, I wanted to share an idea like a friendly ghost. I hope it does not upset you — not with yourself, not with other people, not with the Christmas season, and not with me. I hope this "ghost" visits your home in a nice way, and that no one wants to send it away.

Your friend,
C. D.
December, 1843.

Contents

Stave I: Marley's Ghost
Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits
Stave III: The Second of the Three Spirits
Stave IV: The Last of the Spirits
Stave V: The End of It

Stave I: Marley's Ghost

Marley was dead. That is the truth, right from the start. The paper about his burial was signed by the minister, the church helper, the undertaker (the person who arranges funerals), and the main mourner. Scrooge signed it too. Everyone trusted Scrooge's name on business papers. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

Now, I don't really know why people say "dead as a doornail." Maybe a coffin-nail seems more fitting for something very dead. But that's just the old saying people use, so I will not change it. I will just say it again: Marley was as dead as a doornail.

Did Scrooge know Marley was dead? Of course he did! They had been business partners for many, many years. Scrooge was the only person in charge of Marley's things after he died. He was Marley's only friend and only mourner. But even so, Scrooge was not too sad. In fact, on the very day of the funeral, he was still busy making good business deals.

I mention Marley's funeral to make one thing very clear: Marley was dead. You must understand this, or the rest of the story won't make sense. If we did not know that Hamlet's father died before that famous play began, it would not be strange at all for him to walk around outside at night. It's like any man walking outside after dark — nothing spooky about that. But since we know he is dead, it becomes a ghost story.

Scrooge never took Marley's name off the sign above their shop door. Years later, it still said: "Scrooge and Marley." People sometimes called him Scrooge, and sometimes Marley — he answered to both. It didn't matter to him.

Oh, but Scrooge was a stingy, tight-fisted man! He was grasping, greedy, and cold — like flint, which is a hard stone that doesn't warm up easily. He kept to himself, like an oyster shut tight in its shell. He looked cold all the time: his nose was pointy, his cheeks were thin, his walk was stiff, his eyes were red, and his lips were blue. Frost seemed to sit on his head and eyebrows. He carried his own coldness everywhere he went. He kept his office icy even in summer, and Christmas never warmed him up one bit.

Weather outside didn't change him either. No cold wind was colder than Scrooge. No storm was more stubborn than he was. Rain and snow were sometimes generous — they fell heavily and gave plenty. But Scrooge never gave anything.

Nobody stopped him on the street to say, "Scrooge! How are you? Come visit soon!" No one asked him for help, no children asked him the time, and no one ever asked him for directions. Even dogs that led blind people seemed to know him. When they saw him coming, they pulled their owners away, as if to say, "Better no eyes at all than a mean look like his!"

But Scrooge didn't care. He liked being left alone. Staying away from other people's warmth and kindness was exactly what he wanted.

One Christmas Eve — of all days — old Scrooge sat working in his counting-house (his office where he counted his money). The weather was cold, gray, and foggy. Outside, people walked by, blowing on their hands and stamping their feet to stay warm. It was only three o'clock, but already dark, because the fog had blocked the sun all day. Candles glowed in windows nearby, making little orange smudges in the thick brown fog. The fog crept in through every crack and keyhole. It was so thick that the houses across the street looked like ghosts.

Scrooge left his office door open so he could watch his clerk (his helper who did the writing). The clerk sat in a small, cold room, copying letters by a tiny fire — so small it looked like just one lonely piece of coal. He could not add more coal, because Scrooge kept the coal box in his own room. Every time the clerk came in with his shovel to ask for more, Scrooge warned that he might have to let him go. So instead, the poor clerk wrapped his scarf tighter and tried to warm his hands by his candle. It didn't really work.

"A merry Christmas, uncle! God bless you!" called a cheerful voice. It was Scrooge's nephew, arriving so quickly that Scrooge hadn't even heard him coming.

"Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!" (That means "nonsense!")

The nephew had walked fast through the cold fog, so his cheeks were red and his eyes sparkled. He looked warm and happy.

"Christmas, a humbug, uncle?" said the nephew. "You can't really mean that."

"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What do you have to be merry about? You're poor enough."

"Well then," said the nephew happily, "what do you have to be so gloomy about? You're rich enough!"

Scrooge couldn't think of a good answer, so he just said, "Bah! Humbug!" again.

"Don't be grumpy, uncle," said the nephew.

"How can I not be," said Scrooge, "when I live in a world full of foolish people? Merry Christmas! Ha! What is Christmas to you but a time to pay bills you can't afford? A time to get one year older, but not one penny richer? If I had my way," Scrooge said crossly, "every person who says 'Merry Christmas' should be boiled with their own pudding and buried with a stick of holly through their heart!"

"Uncle!" said the nephew.

"Nephew," said Scrooge sharply, "you keep Christmas your way, and let me keep it mine."

"But you don't keep it at all," said the nephew.

"Then let me leave it alone," said Scrooge. "Much good it's ever done you!"

"There are lots of things that could have helped me that I never used well," said the nephew. "Christmas is one of them, maybe. But I always think of Christmas as a good time — a kind, generous, cheerful time. It's the only time of the year when people open their hearts to each other, and think of others as fellow travelers through life, not as strangers. So even though Christmas has never put a single coin in my pocket, I believe it has done me good — and will keep doing me good. So I say, God bless it!"

The clerk in his little room clapped without meaning to. Then, realizing that wasn't allowed, he quickly poked the fire and put out its last tiny spark.

"Let me hear one more sound from you," Scrooge told him, "and you'll be spending Christmas looking for a new job!" Then he turned to his nephew. "You're quite the speech-maker, sir. You should be in politics."

"Don't be cross, uncle. Come have dinner with us tomorrow!"

Scrooge said he would see him... in a very unpleasant place first (meaning: never).

"But why?" cried the nephew. "Why won't you come?"

"Why did you get married?" asked Scrooge.

"Because I fell in love."

"Because you fell in love!" grumbled Scrooge, as if that were even sillier than a merry Christmas. "Good afternoon!"

"But uncle, you never visited me even before I got married. Why use that as an excuse now?"

"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

"I don't want anything from you. I'm not asking you for money. Why can't we just be friends?"

"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

"I'm sorry you feel this way, uncle. We've never actually argued — not because of me, anyway. But I tried, for Christmas's sake, and I'll keep my cheerful Christmas spirit anyway. So, Merry Christmas, uncle!"

"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.

"And Happy New Year!"

"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.

His nephew left without getting angry. On his way out, he wished the clerk a merry Christmas too. The clerk, even though he was cold, was still warmer than Scrooge — he wished him well right back.

"There's another one," Scrooge muttered, having overheard. "My own clerk — earning barely any money, with a wife and children to feed — going on about a merry Christmas. This is madness."

As the nephew left, he let in two other visitors. They were two cheerful, well-dressed gentlemen carrying books and papers. They took off their hats and bowed to Scrooge.

"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" said one, checking his list. "Am I speaking with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?"

"Mr. Marley has been dead for seven years," Scrooge answered. "He died seven years ago tonight."

"We're sure his generosity lives on through his partner," said the gentleman, holding out his papers.

That was actually a joke — the two of them had been just alike: cold and stingy. At the word "generosity," Scrooge frowned and pushed the papers back.

"At this time of year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman, picking up his pen, "it's especially important to help the poor. Many people don't have enough food or warm clothes, sir."

"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge.

"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, setting down his pen again.

"And the workhouses?" asked Scrooge. (Workhouses were places where poor people were sent to work in exchange for food and shelter.) "Are th—"