A New London Christmas Carol
Anthony Maulucci Anthony Maulucci Writing As Charles Dickinson

 

Scrooge was alive. We must make that perfectly clear from the very start. Ebenezer Scrooge was alive and staying at a modest hotel in New London, Connecticut. That’s right, New London, Connecticut, not London, England. Why? Well it seems he heard from one of his international banking buddies that he could make a killing in real estate by buying up foreclosed houses in the US and holding onto them until the recession was over.
Well, old Scrooge was never one to pass up an opportunity to make a buck, even if it meant traveling a good distance away from his beloved London. And so we now we find him on this Christmas Eve, 2011, preparing to make a visit to one of his newly-purchased properties.
The property in question was a two-family wooden-frame house dating from the 1920’s and located in a shabby part of the city. The house, like the neighborhood, was once somewhat respectable, being occupied by the thrifty working class, that is, by people who were employed in local industry. But the neighborhood had fallen on hard times, and many of the working families were forced into taking out second mortgages or taking in boarders or renting the houses they once owned.
Being on unfamiliar territory, Scrooge allowed himself the indulgence of a taxi. Besides, night was falling and it was snowing hard. The shrewd driver took him the long way around and thus doubled the fare. Scrooge grumbled that it was a long way, and the driver snarled back that he was not responsible for the layout of the city.
Upon arriving at his destination, Scrooge paid the driver but did not give him a tip. He got out of the taxi and stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. The snow was piling up on the front steps. He was taking it in as well as he could in the dark and assessing its value when he thought he saw a figure duck away from a window lit up for an instant by a candle. This startled Scrooge. The house was supposed to be empty, the tenants having been informed of their need to vacate the premises when the local bank took over the property.
As a precaution, Scrooge decided to knock on the door rather than barge right in. The door was answered by a girl of about 10 years who then vanished like a wraith. Inside the dark interior Scrooge dimly saw the bulks of a man and a woman who were seated on a couch in the living room, the only piece of furniture Scrooge could see.
“Yeah? Whaddya want?” came the voice of the man out of the dark in a tone devoid of any trace of hospitality.
Scrooge stepped boldly inside. “I’ve come to take a look at my house,” he said. “I was told the place would be empty.”
“Well, you were misinformed,” the man barked out. “Now would you mind leaving? It’s Christmas Eve.”
Scrooge struggled to peer into his face, but it was still in deep shadow. “Yes, I would mind. This is my house and you are trespassing.”
The man and the woman stood up together and came forward. Their faces had a ghostly illumination from the glow of the moonlit snow outside. “Now you listen here,” the woman growled. “We used to own this place, and as far as I understand we have the right to be here until the end of the year, which ain’t for another week.”
Not in the least intimidated, Scrooge stood his ground. “Now see here --”
“We’ve had enough of uppity bankers like you pushing us around. You guys are no good crooks and thieves, stealing people’s money and crying to the government to bail you out. We’re fed up, d’ya hear? So get the hell off my property,” the man shouted, shoving Scrooge out the door. “And you can go back to where you came from!”
“And take my curse with you!” the woman exclaimed. Then, for good measure, she added, “Tonight you will be visited by the spirits of three brothers!”
Muttering “Bah, humbug!” Scrooge slipped and stumbled down the front steps and into the snow-blanketed street. Never had he been so humiliated. He looked up and saw the headlights of a car coming along slowly and pulling up. It was a taxi. Reluctantly, Scrooge got in.
“Had a rough time?” asked the driver, the same one who brought him there.
“Mind your own business,” Scrooge snapped back. “Just get me out of here and take me back to where I came from.”
“Sure thing,” said the driver with a sly grin as they drove away into the snowstorm.
“On second thought, take me to an inexpensive restaurant. I need to get some dinner.”
Scrooge had a frugal dinner of overdone roast beef and instant mashed potatoes in a restaurant called The Knight’s Tavern situated on a commercial boulevard opposite a strip mall. He was disturbed by the restaurant’s fake English country décor and appalled by the cheap souvenirs and knick-knacks crammed into every available space in the foyer.
After dinner Scrooge took a taxi to his hotel, The Golden Arms, a nondescript brick and concrete building surrounded by a parking lot, and went up to his room, which was equally sterile and had an expansive view of – what else, the parking lot. He stripped down to his underwear, flopped onto the bed, and switched on the television set that stared down at him from atop the dresser.
What he saw flashing across the screen as he rapidly pressed the channel button on the remote control appalled him even more than the tackiness of the restaurant where he’d had dinner.
“What utter trash,” he exclaimed aloud.
Moments later Scrooge became drowsy and drifted off to sleep.
In what seemed to him like another moment later he thought he felt someone sit down beside him on the bed. His eyelids popped open and he beheld a male figure dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo. He was smoking a cigar and watching the TV with a frown on his bespectacled face.
“Terrible, Terrible. No where near as funny as we were in our day. Are you watching this garbage?”
Scrooge blinked in befuddlement. “Who are you? And how did you get in here?” Scrooge thought the man bore an uncanny resemblance to Groucho Marx. He had the same eyebrows and large mustache. “Are you . . . ?”
The man´s eyebrows arched up and, smiling with irony, he flipped them up and down. “I am the ghost of Christmas past. Say the magic word and off we go!”
“Well, well, well,” Scrooge managed to mumble.
“Speak up, man! I didn´t come here for my own amusement, let me tell you. I was perfectly happy where I was a few moments ago.”
“Where were you?”
“Nevermind that! Let´s get right down to giving you the business, that´s what I came for.”
“Proceed.”
“Okay, pal. Grab onto my coat tails.”
Scrooge did as he was instructed and in a flash both he and the man in the tuxedo were transported to London where Scrooge was shown the happiest days of his childhood and youth.
When he was back in his hotel room in New London, Scooge reflected wistfully on the loss of his happier days. His present state of affairs was drab and very lonely by comparison. But he shook off his melancholy musings and settled down for slumber. Tomorrow was another day for business, and hard business always cleared the mists from his mind.
No sooner had Scrooge closed his eyes and began drifting off to sleep when there was an uproar of laughter from across the hall that brought him fully awake again.
“Damn it!” Scrooge exclaimed sitting bolt upright. “What the hell is that awful racket?”
Just then there was a loud pounding at the door. Muttering curses, Scrooge threw off the covers and sprang to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it wide open in his anger.
A shortish man in a funny cap and rumpled suit was grinning broadly at him, his large fist raised in preparation for another knock at the door.
Scrooge scowled at him. “What the devil do you want?”
“I´m-a no devil, but I think-a he´s at the party . . .”
“What party?”
“The one-a next door. Getta dressed. You’re come-on wid me.”
“Where to?”
“The party, of course!”
“Who are you anyway? You look like Chico —”
“So they tell me. I´m here to show you a good time on-a Christmas Eve. So shadda-you mouth and putta on you best clothes.”
Still muttering Scrooge got dressed and followed the weird little man across the hall. Once inside, Scrooge stared in bewilderment at all the people. How had so many of them fit into this small room which seemed to grow larger every time he turned around? The little man in the funny cap kept popping up in different places, always smiling, laughing and motioning to Scrooge to join in the fun and have a drink. He tried to join in, but Scrooge soon discovered he was invisible. He was very disappointed by this development.
Eventually Scrooge left the party in frustration and went back to his room. He bolted the door, undressed, and got into bed. The clock on the bedside table read 12:00. No time had passed since he had been rudely awakened.
“That´s odd,” he thought. “Could all of this be happening to me because of the curse of that woman in the house whom I told to vacate? Bah! Humbug!” And turning over onto his side he closed his eyes and snuggled down under the covers.
Just then there was a harsh honking sound. Scrooge sat up in alarm and beheld a man with curly blonde hair dressed all in black standing at the foot of his bed with an impish grin on his pale face. Suddenly the bed covers were yanked away and Scrooge lay there completely exposed and shivering with cold.
“What the —?” Scrooge cried out.
The curly-headed man wound his cape around him as he lifted him off the bed and into the air.
“What’s happening? Are you a magician . . . or a madman?”
The man said nothing in reply. Apparently he was mute. But his grim and solemn face spoke volumes.
“Where are you taking me?” cried Scrooge as together they flew out the window on the cape as if it was a magic carpet.
An instant later he landed in the New London City Morgue and was standing beside a slab table on which was laid out a corpse that looked exactly like himself.
“Oh my God,” Scrooge gasped. “It´s me! Tell me, Spirit, is that what will happen to me tonight or tomorrow?”
The Spirit´s face grew dark as if covered by a hood, and he honked his horn three times in answer to Scrooge´s question.
Then everything went dark as Scrooge fainted away.
Scrooge awoke the next morning and felt himself all over. Oh happy day! He was still alive! He dressed as quickly as he could, hurried down to the lobby using the stairs instead of the elevator, dashed out the front door, and jumped into the first taxi that was waiting there. It was the same driver from the previous night.
“You again?” said Scrooge in surprise. “Still working?”
“Yeah, gotta work 18 hour shifts to make enough to pay the bills. Where to? Same restaurant?”
“No, no. I´m never going in there again. Please take me back to the same house I went to last night. And hurry! There´s a family that needs my help. And here´s a hundred dollars for your trouble.”
Scrooge handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill and sat back to enjoy the ride. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. His mouth felt funny. Something strange had happened to it. It was smiling.

Copyright 2012 by Anthony S. Maulucci

 

 

Copyright © 2012 Anthony Maulucci Anthony Maulucci Writing As Charles Dickinson
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"