Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own A Christmas Carol.

"Since you don't appear to be willing to speak – and I sincerely thank you for that, oh mysterious death apparition – you will have to conduct me where you will and I will piece it together," Scrooge announced.

The spirit did not have to do anything to begin with as a few gentlemen he vaguely knew huddled together, laughing.

"You're not having a go at me, are you?" one of them asked. "He's really dead?"

"Why would I joke about something like that?" another one asked. "He'd probably make my life a living hell!"

"But what's he done with his money?" the third asked impatiently.

"Who knows?" asked the first. "Maybe he left it to his business. He has nobody else."

"He didn't leave it to me is all I know," the second added. "Do you think anyone will actually turn out for the funeral? I know I'm not going unless something else I don't want to do happens to be scheduled for the same day."

"Maybe he didn't leave the money to you because you're an ass who doesn't care that a man you knew died and don't even want to go to the funeral!" Scrooge exploded. He looked over at the spirit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I know I'm not the most sentimental of men but they take it too far."

"Well, I wouldn't mind going," the first said boldly. He waited for the other two to turn to him, dumbstruck, and then continued with, "As long as lunch is provided!"

The spirit began to walk suddenly and, thankful to escape this terrible scene, Scrooge followed him. As the part of town they passed through became worse and worse, Scrooge began to eye his surroundings warily.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a pawn shop and went inside.

Three grubby women stood in front of an equally grubby pawnbroker.

"Don't you just love a good grave-robbing?" the pawnbroker asked, almost buzzing with anticipation.

One of the women, who looked almost familiar to Scrooge, drew herself up. "I would never grave rob and I am insulted that you would imply otherwise! Why, I'm a good Christian woman, ain't I?"

"I'm not doubting you," the pawnbroker was quick to assure her. He glanced at the bulging bag. "It's just that, well…"

"He weren't in his grave yet so that's different," she insisted.

"Too true, too true," the pawnbroker readily agreed. "Now ladies, what have you got for me?"

The first woman produced a mostly worthless bundle of little trinkets such as seals, brooches, and sleeve-buttons. She received very little for it but the pawnbroker would not pay a penny more. The second woman fared a little better with sheets, towels, and some tea items.

They all looked to the almost familiar woman eagerly.

"Well, I've got his bed curtains," she said smugly as she produced them.

The other three just stared at her.

"While he was just lying there?" the pawnbroker couldn't believe it.

Scrooge, who had been peering closely at her, gave a start. "I say! Is that my cleaning woman?"

The suspected cleaning woman cackled. "Well, it's not as if he had any use for it!"

"I suppose. But…still…" one of the other women looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Is this the same man from earlier?" Scrooge asked, intrigued.

No answer, of course.

"You think that's something?" the cleaning woman asked, smirking. "Some idiot dressed him in his best clothes – better than I knew he had, the cheapskate – and so I lifted them and came here." And she produced a very fine set of clothing. "And then there's the blanket, of course."

"You stripped a corpse!" one of the women couldn't believe it.

"Okay, my cleaning woman or not, she is so fired," Scrooge declared.

The woman nodded primly. "And I expect to be well-paid for it."

But the pawnbroker didn't touch it. "He didn't die of anything contagious, did he?"

The woman gave him a look. "Would I be there if he did? He must have been dead for days before I found him seeing as I only come in once a week. He chased everyone away while he was alive so now no one cares that he's dead. Not that he minds, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't go that far," another woman said. "His nephew was there when I went by and he seemed upset. He said that for my loyal service of course I should have a little something. I almost didn't take anything after that but he insisted. A right proper gentleman he was. Hard to believe that they're really related."

"I can't watch this," Scrooge declared disgustedly, turning to walk away. When he got outside, he turned to the spirit. "What cretins. I know that you pretty much embody death and that the other two spirits came to show me my past and present so I really cannot imagine who this dead man from the future is. But just in case, can you show me any normal human reactions? I find myself disturbed to be surrounded by so many sociopaths."

The world changed and suddenly Scrooge found himself standing before Bob Cratchit's house.

"Oh, thank goodness I'm back here," Scrooge said monotonously. "This is exactly what I meant."

Still, there was nothing to be gained by waiting outside and so he reluctantly ventured forward.

The Cratchit children were all huddled around Peter who was reading from the bible while his mother was attempting to sew. She was having difficulty as she was clearly on the verge of tears.

"The color hurts my eyes," she finally said, giving up.

"Let me guess," Scrooge said sourly. "That kid is dead and somehow this is all my fault."

The spirit said nothing and though Scrooge still couldn't see him properly, he rather fancied that the spirit was projecting an aura of 'You said it, not me.'

"Shouldn't your father be home by now?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"He would be normally but he's walked a little slower ever since…" Peter trailed off.

The other children added their completely unnecessary agreements.

Just then, Cratchit himself came in. "Sorry I'm late. I just met Mr. Scrooge's extraordinarily kind nephew and he offered to pay for the whole funeral himself as well as hiring me on since I'm out of a job and getting Peter a decent starting position!"

Everyone oohed and ahed appropriately.

"But where did you even meet him?" Emily asked.

Here Cratchit looked down. "At…at the cemetery."

She was puzzled. "You mean…oh, but he is a wonderfully forgiving man!"

"I get it," Scrooge snapped. "Everyone who meets my nephew, excepting myself, is much better off than before their paths crossed. At some point this gets gratuitous."

Cratchit nodded. "Indeed. I…things should be ready by Sunday. I really think that Tim would be happy there."

Scrooge rolled his eyes in the corner as the Cratchit family then banded together and vowed to never forget Tim or to quarrel again and all sorts of things that would have made the Ghost of Christmas Present openly weep but did not move him in the slightest. At least the current spirit seemed similarly uninterested.

"Can we just move on?" Scrooge finally requested as all the saccharine outpouring proved too much for him.

The spirit held out his arm and Scrooge gladly took it.

Then they were in a cemetery which was a bit worrying. The spirit led the way to one in particular and, pausing for but a moment, Scrooge glanced at it.

"Oh, the dead man everyone was talking about was me. What a twist! That would explain why my nephew kept being mentioned and why my cleaning woman was there," Scrooge remarked. "And dead in only a year? Look, I know you don't talk but this is rather an important question I've got to ask."

The spirit said nothing.

"I know that if I change my ways now then the circumstances of my end will change quite a bit but will the timing? If I suddenly start 'honoring Christmas' or whatever it is that you people want then will I outlive Tiny Tim at least?" Scrooge demanded. "Or wait, changing probably demands I do something about that. Will I live longer than a year? Because if I can survive then frankly I would rather do so. And I suppose Jacob's fate does not look appealing and he was a friend so if I can get him out of that I probably should do so."

The spirit still said nothing.

Frustrated, Scrooge started pulling on the spirit's robes and the spirit started pulling back, trying to free itself. In the struggle, the robes that the spirit wore billowed out and covered Scrooge and when he was finally able to wrest himself out from under them he discovered that he was no longer in the graveyard. Instead, he was in his own bed fighting with his own blankets which his cleaning woman had not yet stolen.

And he may have resolved to change – even if he was quite possibly missing the point – but he was still firing her because she seemed like a terrible person he didn't trust near his corpse. Hopefully he would not die for many a year but she was much younger than him and so, if he did nothing, she would probably still be around then.

"The fact that I'm here means that this was probably a dream," Scrooge reasoned. "But if I'm having dreams about how much I should change then maybe I should listen as clearly part of me wants to. And why risk it? I wonder what day today is. Is it still Christmas?"

He went to the window and saw a young boy passing by.

"Hello," Scrooge called down to him.

The boy jumped and then turned to eye Scrooge warily. "Are you talking to me, strange man?"

"I'm not strange but I am, in fact, talking to you," Scrooge confirmed. "Is today still Christmas?"

The boy looked at him strangely. "Yes. Of course is it. Why, were you so drunk last night you thought you might have slept through it?"

Scrooge shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Listen, do you know that poulter on the corner?"

"Of course I do," the boy said, looking affronted.

"I just wanted to make sure before we went any further," Scrooge assured him. "Now, do you know if they've sold the prized turkey there?"

"I'm not psychic but the last time I was there they hadn't," the boy replied. "It's a shame it's going to waste but it's so bloody expensive and nobody could eat all of that."

"Well can you do me a favor and buy it for me?" Scrooge requested.

"Why can't you buy it for yourself?" the boy demanded.

"Because that takes effort and I'd rather pay somebody else to do it," Scrooge replied.

"Well how about you give me the money so that I can pay the man and not have to convince him to just follow me out here with that bird and that he'd get paid here?" the boy suggested.

"Trust you with that much money?" Scrooge scoffed. "Not on your life." He coughed. "I mean, er, what if you get mugged or something? I'm only looking out for you."

The boy sighed. "Fine. How much are we talking?"

"A shilling if you do it at all and half a crown if you get back within five minutes," Scrooge answered promptly. "Not that I'll be timing you or anything but-"

But the boy was already gone.

"I suppose that if I'm to keep Tiny Tim alive so that I can stay alive then the first step is to properly feed them. But if I tell them who it is from then not only will I have to deal with annoying things like gratitude that I'm not really in the mood for right now but they'll be more likely to suspect poison than just a random stranger going around giving people giant turkeys," Scrooge said to himself.

He quickly got ready while waiting for the boy and the man from the butcher's shop to come back.

It was more than five minutes before they did return (perhaps it really had been a challenge for the child to convince the man to come with him for free after all) but Scrooge gave him his half a crown anyway and, once he remembered where Cratchit lived, he sent the butcher off in a cab to deliver the bird.

Then, to test his newfound resolve and because he had already gotten ready, he set off to go mingle with the common folk and to greet them as if he were pleased to see them. He must have done a passable job because three or four of them wished him a good day and a happy Christmas as well.

The two people asking for money yesterday were still loitering about and while his first impulse was to go on another way (both because he did not want to deal with any hostility from them and because he suspected the 'changed' thing to do was to give them money), he braced himself and then went right up to them.

"Hello, I'm not sure if you remember me," he began.

The way they both stiffened as they saw him suggested that they did, in fact, remember him.

"I'm afraid that you caught me at a bad time yesterday. I'm not usually like that," he lied. "Or at least I hope I'm not!"

That earned him a weak chuckle.

"So how about I give you a little something after all?" he asked, whispering a figure into their ears. "And let's keep this anonymous, shall we?"

"Oh, Mr. Scrooge!" It was clear that they didn't really know what else to say.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', shall I?" he asked dryly.

"Yes!" the man exclaimed happily.

"Right, so…I'm sure you've got much to do so come see me later or something," Scrooge said awkwardly.

"We will," one of the men promised him, sounding like he really meant it.

Well, he supposed he had better get used to that.

It occurred to him that such a sudden change as he was enacting might make one think that he was mad. Still, he didn't think he had much to fear from Bedlam because not only did he have a lot of money and as his next of kin a nephew who would be only too glad at the change but people would be too terrified at his return to his usual self and the retribution that he would pay out to those who had had him locked away in the first place.

Or at least he hoped that was how it would be.

Better fire the cleaning woman before she noticed a change.

Fred, never expecting him to actually show up, had not actually told him what time the party was to be at his house. Well, he had only himself to blame if Scrooge showed up too early then. It would be difficult to make nice with people who would only make fun of him behind his back and expected him to be thankful that other people wanted to pester him (he did not like Fred's wife!) but he thought of the alternative and figured that he could put up with it.

He actually felt a little nervous before he knocked but then he reminded himself that this was ridiculous. He had been invited, after all, the way he had always been invited and everyone in Fred's acquaintance apparently knew all about Fred's long-standing quest to get him to come to dinner so he couldn't very well turn him away now could he?

The maid answered the door and showed him in.

"Fred!" Scrooge cried out and did get a little trill of delight at the stunned expression on his nephew's face.

"Uncle Scrooge!" Fred cried out. "But…what are you…?"

"I was invited," Scrooge reminded him, smiling. "I know that I turned you down for the…I don't even know how many times. Too damn many. But I changed my mind. I do hope that the lack of advanced notice hasn't thrown off your plans too much."

"Oh, not at all," Clara said, drawing attention to her presence. It was remarkable how nice she looked and not at all like she couldn't stand him for Fred's pigheadedness. "We are always prepared because Fred has this terrible habit of inviting everyone he sees on Christmas day to our party."

Fred grinned and blushed. "I'm not quite that bad, my dear."

"Remember last year?" Clara asked pointedly.

Fred coughed. "I'm not quite sure what you mean…"

"So you did actually want me to show up and didn't just feel it was your duty to ask me?" Scrooge asked, semi-genuinely curious.

"Of course I did!" Fred assured him. "And not just because I stand to make quite a bit of money on this."

"Fred!" Clara exclaimed, laughing. "Don't tell him that!"

"I sort of already did yesterday, I think," Fred admitted. "I could always split the money with you, if you'd like."

"Oh, no need," Scrooge said, waving him off. "I have enough money of my own. And someday, hopefully many years down the line, you'll get all of my money anyway."

Fred's legs buckled and fortunately he was standing near a chair. "W-what?"

"Well, where else do you think I would have left it?" Scrooge asked rhetorically. "With the business?"

"Frankly, yes," Fred admitted. "It did rather seem like the sort of thing you would do. But I am gratified to know that I was in your thoughts."

That was one word for it. And he hadn't actually intended to tell Fred about that, had he? Oh well.

"And now you have to pretend to be happy to see me," Scrooge noted.

"We're not pretending!" Clara insisted.

"Really?" Scrooge asked lightly. "I had rather thought that you had no patience with me."

Clara had the grace to flush a deep scarlet. "It's just hard to see Fred get his hopes up every year only for them to be dashed to pieces. But Fred's faith was rewarded, it seems, since you are here now."

"Yes," Scrooge agreed. "I am here now. So I'm afraid that you can't amuse everyone by telling the tale of your impossible uncle since I will be there as well and it will be rather awkward."

"Au contraire," Fred disagreed. "I can tell the tale of the long journey towards this wonderful Christmas dinner."

Maybe it was just the unusual sensation of people being genuinely glad to see him (or so it seemed to him) and not at all interested in committing him but that sounded alright to Scrooge.

The next morning, despite staying rather late at Fred's house and making plans to dine with them again next week, Scrooge made sure that he arrived in to work early so as be able to accuse Cratchit of being late. It would be better if Cratchit were actually late but even if he wasn't Scrooge still intended to accuse him of it.

As luck would have it, Cratchit did arrive eighteen and a half minutes late. Scrooge took a minute to mourn the fact that he could not fire him or even put the fear of Scrooge into him like he would have done even just the day before. He did enjoy envisioning how such a scene would have gone but it could only stay in his imagination. He did rather think it was close to how it really would have played out.

It was rather amusing to watch Cratchit try to sneak in. He had to have known that Scrooge was never, ever late and so it wouldn't work. But maybe he thought that Scrooge paid him so little attention he honestly wouldn't have noticed. And now he was wondering if Cratchit had ever pulled such a gambit successfully before. But now wasn't the time for that.

He cleared his throat loudly and enjoyed the sight of Cratchit on the verge of a heart attack.

"What is the meaning of this, Cratchit?" Scrooge growled.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," Cratchit managed to say after several false starts. "I know that I am behind my time."

"Quite," Scrooge said curtly. "Step this way, please."

Trembling with trepidation, Cratchit headed into Scrooge's office clearly in fear for his position. Oh how he did wish that he could make that fear a reality! But no, that was the path to being dead in a year.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I was making rather merry yesterday. It's only once a year," Cratchit cried feebly. "And Christmas!"

"If I had a shilling for every time I've heard that recently," Scrooge began, shaking his head. "I care little for your excuses, Cratchit. 'I was making rather merry' indeed. And where were you yesterday?"

"You gave me the day off, sir," Cratchit said, on surer footing here.

"I?" Scrooge repeated disdainfully. "Does that sound like the sort of thing that I would do?"

"I got it in writing after the problems last year, sir," Cratchit replied, pulling out a folded piece of paper and holding it up for Scrooge to peruse. So he had.

"Well I gave it a long, hard thought and I am just not going to stand for the current state of affairs any longer!" Scrooge thundered.

Cratchit practically wilted right in front of him.

"And so therefore you give me no choice but to…raise your salary, get your boy a doctor or five, and go out to lunch," Scrooge finished. It came out a little less bitterly to see Cratchit practically faint in shock.

"I…sir?" Cratchit couldn't believe it. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Are you really going to question your good fortune?" Scrooge retorted.

"…And a happy Christmas to you, Mr. Scrooge," Cratchit said quickly.

You could always count on people to look out for their own self-interest, even suspiciously saintly people like Fred. But if he was going to be doing this sort of thing all the time, he might as well try to consider it altruism or something.

And who would know better about the strange mix of helping others and selfish self-interest than him, anyway?

Tiny Tim, he vowed, would live and so would Ebenezer Scrooge.

It's the End so Review Please!