December 1st:
My name is Ebenezer Scrooge, a solitary figure running a small counting house. My sole employee, the ever-patient Bob Cratchit, is a stark contrast to my own miserly nature. I once ran the business with my late partner, Marley, but now, old and weary, I struggle to maintain the firm. As I retire for the night, I begrudgingly note Cratchit’s haste to depart. His family’s plight is of no concern to me. He must perform to my exacting standards, or he will be replaced.
Upon returning home, I’m met with a peculiar sight: my house is gone, replaced by an inviting path. Intrigued, I venture forth, rejuvenated and eager to explore this mysterious realm. As I walk, I encounter the long-lost friends of my youth, their spirits as vibrant as ever.
December 2nd:
The path leads me to my own Counting House, transformed into a vibrant and cheerful establishment of the past. Jacob, my business partner, greets me warmly. Our recent venture has been a resounding success, yielding immense profits. I rush home to share the news with my sister Fan, soon to be the mother of my nephew, Fezziwig. My heart yearns for Belle, my beloved.
With our newfound wealth, Jacob and I are poised for financial independence. However, Belle senses a growing darkness. Our obsession with work threatens to overshadow love. As Old Ebenezer, I can attest to the emptiness that material success can bring. Though I’ve accumulated wealth, I’ve sacrificed love and joy. Belle, as perceptive as ever, recognizes her secondary role in my life. Her subtle reproach stings, but my ambition blinds me.
As I turn away, a spectral figure appears. A jovial ghost, radiating an otherworldly joy, stands before me.
December 3rd:
The memory is so vivid, it feels like I’m reliving it. I’m with young Belle, the one who had to abandon me due to my greed. The one who had to marry another. The one who was my companion. At the time, I saw her departure as a betrayal. Now, with the passage of time, I realize it was the best outcome for her. She was able to live a full life, a luxury I’ve denied myself.
A bittersweet nostalgia washes over me as I relive these moments. The sweetness of youthful ambition and early success is tinged with the bitterness of a life derailed. I approach the spectral guide, a childlike figure with a radiant head. He transports me through the Christmases of my past, using a cap to dim his luminescence. As I gaze upon Fan and Belle, I’m struck by their uncanny resemblance. How could I have been so blind? Both women exude an ethereal charm, a creative spirit, and an undeniable influence.
December 4th:
The spectre, a curious apparition, drew near. "What is your name?" I inquired, my voice a mere whisper. "I have no name," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "I am here to show you Christmas Past."
"Then," I declared, "I shall call you the Ghost of Christmas Past."
He chuckled softly, his ethereal form seeming to shimmer. "As you wish," he replied.
Turning my attention away from the spectre, I found myself with Belle. We were invited to a Christmas party, a joyous occasion filled with laughter and dance. Fan, my sister, engaged Jacob Marley and me in a heated debate, berating us for our relentless pursuit of wealth. Without a second thought, I defended our business, extolling the virtues of our success. I insisted that she should be proud of our accomplishments.
However, Fan, and indeed my future self, Old Ebenezer, saw the folly of our ways. Belle, a perceptive soul, recognized the bleak future that awaited us. Yet, I persisted, a puppet manipulated by an unseen force. My head warned me of the consequences, of the love lost and the friendships strained. Still, I continued, a captive to my own ambition.
Marley and I departed the party, our spirits heavy with discontent. As I broke free from the spectral grip, I turned to the Ghost of Christmas Past, pleading, "Take me from this place. It is too much for an old man like me."
December 5th:
Now, alone with the Ghost of Christmas Past, I wandered away from the party, leaving behind the possibility of a life filled with love and happiness with Belle. As I trudged through the snow-covered streets, my mind raced with memories. I recalled the day I set my sights on becoming a successful businessman, a man of respect, regardless of wealth. Marley, my ambitious friend, had promised to elevate me to the pinnacle of success. And so, I embarked on my relentless pursuit, unyielding and unwavering.
Yet, as I reflected upon my past, I realized the terrible cost. In my relentless pursuit of wealth, I had sacrificed my humanity. The young Ebenezer, blinded by ambition, had forfeited love, joy, and the simple pleasures of life.
December 6th:
As I wandered the snow-kissed streets, I encountered a youthful, exuberant Marley. His determination to achieve greatness burned bright, undeterred by any obstacle. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, a bittersweet joy at seeing my old deceased friend. Yet, as quickly as he had appeared, the years took their toll. We aged before my eyes, our youthful vigor fading into the weariness of old age.
Marley, now a spectral figure, was bound by chains and caskets, each link heavy with accumulated wealth. A chilling realization dawned upon me: his riches had become his chains, dragging him down into the depths of the afterlife. As the Ghost of Christmas Past departed, another spectral figure emerged, its form shrouded in darkness. When I inquired about its identity, it remained silent.
"That," Marley explained, his voice a chilling whisper, "is the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."
I turned to face my own grim future. A grotesque sight met my gaze: my spectral self, burdened by chains of accumulated wealth, a monstrous figure growing ever larger. Horror seized me, and I fled in terror from that dreadful vision.
December 7th:
I needed respite from the harrowing vision of Marley, a reprieve from the chains that bound his soul. As the spectral chains and ghostly coffers dissipated into thin air, I was free to return to the party. There, I sought out Belle, my heart filled with hope. But my approach was met with a cold, unforgiving gaze. She pushed me away, her voice choked with sorrow, and severed our engagement.
Bound by my obsession with wealth, I was condemned to a life of solitude and regret. As I left the party, a heavy weight settled upon my shoulders. A profound sense of remorse washed over me, and I knew that I must change my ways. I yearned for redemption, for a chance to rectify my mistakes.
Returning home, I sought solace in my familiar chair by the fireplace. There, in the quiet solitude, I pondered my future, determined to find a path to redemption.
December 8th:
I recall a time when I believed myself invincible, a man of boundless ambition. Marley and I, bound by a shared dream, had forged a plan that would lead us to untold wealth. But our plan, a Machiavellian scheme, had warped our souls. We had forgotten the true purpose of business: to earn a living, to provide for others, to alleviate suffering, not to amass fortune for fortune's sake.
Instead, we had become obsessed with the clinking of coins, the swelling of our coffers. We cared little for the plight of those who sought our loans, their desperation a mere means to an end. We were usurers, exploiting the vulnerable, and we reveled in our greed. The law, a feeble restraint, could not curb our insatiable desire for wealth. We pushed the boundaries of morality, blinded by our ambition.
In our pursuit of riches, we had neglected the finer things in life. Love, friendship, and human connection were sacrificed at the altar of profit. Our plan, once a beacon of hope, had become a suffocating prison, confining us to a life of relentless accumulation.
December 9th:
In this desperate hour, I retraced my steps, yearning to return to the dreary reality of my present life. Though my existence was mundane and joyless, it was preferable to reliving the torments of my past. The realization dawned upon me that my life's achievements were built upon a foundation of sacrifice. I had traded love, friendship, and human connection for wealth and power.
A newfound resolve surged within me. Tomorrow, I will embark on a new path, a path of redemption. I would strive to make amends for the wrongs I had committed, to reconnect with the people I had neglected. The future was uncertain, but I was determined to embrace it, to live a life of meaning and purpose.
December 10th:
As I returned home, I glanced back at the party house. I bid a silent farewell to the revelers, their figures growing smaller in the distance. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I contemplated my past. I had achieved the success I had so ardently pursued, but at a great cost. While some of my endeavors had brought prosperity to others, many had been tainted by greed and exploitation.
Yet, I refused to succumb to despair. I was determined to use my remaining years to make amends, to restore my tarnished reputation. For the sake of myself and Marley, I would strive to be a better man.
December 11th:
I returned home, weary and contemplative. The events of the past few hours had taken a heavy toll on my spirit. I had relived the lost love of Belle, the bitter arguments with Fan, and the haunting specter of my own past. Yet, as I settled into my chair by the fireplace, a new visitor arrived.
A jovial giant, the Ghost of Christmas Present, materialized before me. Despite my exhaustion, I felt compelled to accompany him. Under the watchful eye of the moon, we ventured into the night, our steps guided by its ethereal light.
December 12th:
We moved through the bustling streets, unseen and unheard. The Ghost of Christmas Present led me to a familiar place, a tavern where I had once celebrated many a Christmas Eve. The jovial yet old figure of Fezziwig, my former employer, filled the room with laughter and merriment. He was old now, but his spirit remained as vibrant as ever. I imagined myself in his place, a contented man surrounded by loved ones.
My gaze fell upon my nephew, Fred, a young man full of life and joy. I recalled the morning I had turned him away, refusing his plea for aid. A pang of guilt shot through me. I had been so consumed by my own ambitions that I had neglected the needs of others and he reminds me so much of her mother, Fan. I’d never listened to her complaints about my own life wasted between my business with Marley.
The Ghost of Christmas Present turned my attention to Bob Cratchit, my overworked and underpaid employee. I learned of his sick son, Tiny Tim, and the family’s struggle to make ends meet. A wave of shame washed over me. I had been so focused on my own wealth that I had overlooked the suffering of others.
"Take me to the Cratchits' home," I pleaded, my voice filled with remorse. I had become so detached from the lives of my employees that I didn't even know where they lived.
December 13th:
The visit to the Cratchit household was a harrowing experience. Bob, ever dutiful, was still toiling away, oblivious to the suffering within his own home. His wife, worn and weary, labored in the kitchen, preparing a meager meal for her family. In a small bed, a frail child lay, his life hanging by a thread. It was a sight that pierced my heart.
I vowed to return the following day, to offer whatever assistance I could. I would ensure that the Cratchit family would never again want for food or warmth. The image of the sick child haunted me, a stark reminder of the human cost of my own greed and indifference.
December 14th:
The Ghost of Christmas Present led me to a modest milliner's shop. The door, though ajar, revealed a scene of quiet charity. Martha, Bob Cratchit's eldest daughter, stood before a kind employer, receiving a small envelope and a basket of food. Her gratitude was palpable, her eyes filled with hope.
As I witnessed this act of kindness, a wave of shame washed over me. My own generosity had been meager compared to that of this stranger. I realized the depth of my own selfishness and the profound impact it had on the lives of others.
December 15th:
It was a sobering realization, the extent of my blindness. For years, Cratchit and his family had endured hardship, their lives marked by poverty. My miserly ways had deprived them of the basic comforts, yet it had hardly affected my own wealth. A modest increase in his salary would have made a significant difference, but my selfishness had prevented me from taking such a simple step.
As I returned to the Cratchit household, following Martha, I found Bob reunited with his other son, Peter. The sight of the father gifting his son an old shirt, a token of love and sacrifice, filled me with deep remorse. Their unwavering love and support for one another, despite their hardships, stood in stark contrast to my own selfish existence. I was ashamed of my neglect, of the suffering I had caused, both directly and indirectly.
December 16th:
I sought out Fezziwig, eager to relive the warmth and joy of his Christmas celebrations. There he was, engaged in animated conversation with Fred, the image of carefree merriment. The scene was a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the Cratchit household.
As Martha and Peter entered, Fezziwig greeted them with open arms and genuine affection. Fred, ever the gracious host, offered them a warm drink, a simple gesture that spoke volumes about his kindness. The scene evoked memories of my own past Christmases, a time when joy and camaraderie had filled my life. A pang of longing washed over me as I yearned for that lost happiness.
December 17th:
A wave of surprise and sorrow washed over me as I spotted Belle, her beauty undiminished by age. Surrounded by her grandchildren, she radiated a warmth and joy that I had long forsaken. The thought of what might have been filled me with a bittersweet longing. Had I not been so blinded by ambition, these children could have been mine.
While a pang of envy pierced my heart, I also felt a sense of relief. Belle had found happiness, a life filled with love and family. Her joy was a stark contrast to my own desolate existence.
Marley and I had built a formidable business, a testament to our relentless pursuit of wealth. Yet, our success had come at a terrible cost. We had exploited the vulnerable, turning a blind eye to the suffering of others. Though our endeavors had benefited many, our greed had overshadowed our humanity.
December 18th:
I stand before the judgment bar of my own conscience, a solitary judge and jury. Though I amassed wealth and power, a chilling realization grips me: the end is nigh. I cannot follow Marley's spectral path, chained to the ghosts of my past misdeeds. A crucial choice now confronts me: to cling to my fortune, or to dedicate myself to the betterment of others. I have proven my acumen in the marketplace, but my failures as a human being are too numerous to ignore. Time is short, but there is still time to redeem myself, to begin the arduous journey of atonement. Tiny Tim, and countless others, await my assistance.
December 19th:
The Ghost of Christmas Present, with a benevolent smile, dissolved into thin air. An eerie silence descended, the festive lights extinguishing one by one until a single, chilling figure remained illuminated. This spectral apparition, shrouded in a hooded black robe, exuded an aura of dread. Terror threatened to consume me, but I steeled my resolve. This journey, however harrowing, was a necessary penance. To face the specter of my future, even if it mirrored Marley's desolate fate, was the first step towards redemption. With a newfound fortitude, I followed the silent guide towards my unknown, and undoubtedly terrifying, destination.
December 20th:
The spectral hand of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come guided me to a desolate place—a graveyard, bleak and windswept. Amidst the rows of somber stones, I saw a newly dug grave. A chilling premonition seized me; this was to be my final resting place. Only the gravedigger and his somber crew were present, a desolate scene devoid of mourners.
Then, I saw them: Bob Cratchit and his family, their faces etched with grief. But they did not approach my grave. Their sorrowful procession led them to a smaller, freshly turned plot—the final resting place of a child. Tiny Tim. The realization struck me with the force of a physical blow: my life and that of the innocent boy were intertwined.
A fierce resolve ignited within me. This future, this tragic outcome, I would not allow. Tomorrow, I would dedicate myself to the Cratchit family, offering them all the assistance within my power. I would fight with every fiber of my being to alter this grim destiny.
December 21st:
My spirit faltered, weighed down by the chilling vision of my own demise. The prospect of death, a sobering thought for any man, was made all the more dreadful by its stark loneliness. A glimmer of hope remained; I knew that change was possible, that I could avert this grim fate. Yet, the task seemed insurmountable, a Herculean labor for a man as withered as I.
Still, a spark of determination flickered within me. I must begin somewhere, no matter how feeble my first steps. Tiny Tim, the innocent child whose life hung in the balance, would be my first act of redemption. Tomorrow, I would begin my transformation, starting with an act of charity towards the Cratchit family.
December 22nd:
I pressed onward with the dread Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, my heart heavy with foreboding. He led me to Fezziwig’s old warehouse, now a scene of stark desolation. Fred stood amidst the gloom, his attire threadbare, his countenance etched with sadness. The jovial spirit that once permeated these walls had vanished. Fezziwig, alas, was gone, and with him, the grand Christmas celebrations of yore. The townspeople, each confined to their own meager festivities, had forsaken the shared joy that had once bound them together.
My gaze fell upon one of the portly gentlemen who had called upon me that very morning, seeking a donation for the impoverished. I had dismissed him with a curt refusal, citing the potential loss of profit. Now, I understood the profound error of my ways. To aid those in need was not a drain on resources, but a vital lifeblood for the community, a nourishment for the very spirit of the town. Tomorrow, I vowed, this would change. I would embrace the spirit of generosity and contribute to the well-being of my fellow man.
December 23rd:
It was clear, now, that my path lay in departure—a departure not only from the spectral visions of my past, but from the very life I had led. The chilling hand of fate drew near, and I knew the time was approaching when I would cross the Styx, embarking on my final journey. I could not, would not, carry the weight of those spectral chains, those ghostly coffers that had dragged Marley to his doom.
I must transcend the confines of my past, viewing Christmases not as anchors to a bygone era, but as beacons of strength and hope. Belle had found happiness, a life of her own making, and I must rejoice in her fortune, not wallow in the regret of what might have been. The past was immutable, beyond my reach.
Nor could I dwell on the present, for its future was shrouded in darkness. The Christmases yet to come were indeed terrible, but not for me alone. They held a greater tragedy: the loss of Tiny Tim, the sorrow of Fred, and the decline of the city itself. These were the burdens that weighed heaviest on my heart, the specters I was now determined to confront.
December 24th:
The path to Tiny Tim's salvation proved a tumultuous one. A fierce wind howled through the streets, and a throng of hurried passersby obstructed my progress. Yet, fueled by a newfound sense of duty, I pressed onward, determined to reach the Cratchit's door. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come vanished like morning mist, leaving me alone on the Cratchit's doorstep. With a trembling hand, I knocked. The door creaked open, revealing Bob Cratchit, his face a mask of utter surprise.
December 25th:
The morning of the twenty-fifth of December broke, a pristine blanket of snow adorning the streets. My resolve, forged in the fires of the previous night’s spectral visitations, remained steadfast. I had spoken with Cratchit, assuring him that from this day forward, Tiny Tim’s medical expenses would be my responsibility. A wave of warmth spread through me at the thought of the relief this would bring to the burdened family.
I dispatched a message to Fred, who arrived shortly thereafter, accompanied by one of the portly gentlemen who had previously sought my charitable contributions. Together, we set about planning a Christmas celebration worthy of Fezziwig himself—a grand annual affair to be known as the “Fezziwig-Marley” Christmas party. A special prize, “Fan’s Fancy Prize,” would be awarded for the most vibrant and cheerful costume, a lighthearted tribute to my beloved sister.
With the festivities arranged, I turned my attention to the account books. Tomorrow, I would instruct Cratchit to identify any loans bearing unduly harsh terms for our clients. I was determined to rectify the wrongs of the past, to conduct my business with fairness and compassion. I would be no usurer, preying on the vulnerable, but neither would I be a fool, squandering my resources. A balance must be struck, a balance between prudent business practice and human kindness.
December 26th:
Time, that relentless tide, had carried me to the very shores of eternity. On my deathbed, a hazy vision of Fred and Bob swam before my eyes. A profound sense of peace settled upon me. The years since the spectral visitations had been a testament to redemption. I had striven to live a life of fairness and compassion, balancing success with human kindness.
The sacrifices of my youth, I now understood, had been unnecessary, born of a misguided ambition. Yet, from the ashes of my past, a new legacy had arisen. My efforts to right the wrongs of my past had not been in vain. Many had benefited from my newfound generosity, and the name of Marley & Scrooge was no longer synonymous with greed and exploitation. The firm, now under the stewardship of Fred and the faithful Cratchit, stood as a beacon of fairness and integrity.
A deep satisfaction warmed my soul. I had not only mended my own ways but had also sown the seeds of joy in the hearts of others. I knew that my passing would not be a lonely affair. Friends and loved ones would gather, their presence a testament to the bonds I had forged in my final years. And from my legacy, I knew that future Christmas celebrations, filled with warmth and fellowship, would blossom. The spirit of Christmas, rekindled in my own heart, would continue to illuminate the lives of those I left behind.
This is the result of playing Charlie Fleming's A Christmas Carol during the month of December 2024. If you want to try it out, you can buy it here. 
.png "English"){kind=small}
